


Thicker than Water

by Emrhys



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Assault, Bad Parenting, Emotional Manipulation, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt Yuri Plisetsky, Injury, Panic Attacks, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23441899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emrhys/pseuds/Emrhys
Summary: No one speaks of Yuri Plisetsky's father. He's been absent for so long that people forgot he even existed. When Yuri's fame continues to increase, Pyotr Plisetsky suddenly tries to reinsert himself into Yuri's life. And it ruins him.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 204





	1. Father

“I saw that he placed first. He received another medal?” The voice on the other end of the line crackled before drowning in passing police sirens. Maybe he could blame his breathiness on the snowy night and not due to anxiety.

“I will not allow you to see him, Pyotr.” The receiver squeaked under Nikolai’s grip, ready to be slammed down or thrown aside before Pyotr could spew any more bullshit.

“Please, father. I want to know how he's doing.” He sounded like a father then. Desperate and kind. But Nikolai resolved to hear past the sound of his son’s voice, no matter how much he made it quiver, or snuck in a sniffle in his sentences.

Nikolai himself was a wonderful piroshki baker, if he did say so himself. His grandson, Yuri, a champion figure skater, and his son, Pyotr, a great liar.

“I've seen the videos,” the desperate man continued, his frustration bled through. “He's too small and too thin for his age, so you allow them to dress him up like a doll. Like a princess!”

Nikolai remained silent. He didn’t share his son’s distaste in his grandson’s expression. He admired Yuri’s grace and ferocity on the ice and saw nothing beyond that. Even an old man like himself knew there was nothing lesser about Yuri’s skill. Plus, it made Yuri happy. And he was a champion. He was proud of Yuri.

"The Russian _Fairy_ ,” Pyotr spat. The fatherly facade vanished. This voice, Nikolai knew. “Tch. The boy will become a man in a few years, no? He needs his father.”

Nikolai kept himself from sighing too loud, kept himself from giving Pyotr evidence of getting under his skin. He believed that his young grandson would blossom into a great man as long as he continued to find the drive to pursue his dreams.

“You'd keep a father from his son?” Pyotr tried a different tactic. If his father couldn’t listen to reason, maybe guilt could poison him.

It worked. Partly. Nikolai responded, voice shaking under some weight. Exasperation? Regret? Terror? All of the above. “It pains me to do so.”

Pyotr heard his father breaking slowly. He heard the old man pinching the bridge of his nose, and his posture sink, hand out against a wall or table to steady his quaking legs. Pyotr pressed further, allowing his voice to quiver softly, “Then why?”

Nikolai made one last attempt to end this ridiculous phone call. “It's not good for him. He's been… problematic, but he’s making friends now.” Nikolai quickly defended his grandson’s behavior but he wished he had kept his mouth shut in fear that Pyotr would find ways to harass his friends and rinkmates. But the words already spilled out and so Nikolai put his foot down. “What he has going on is really good for him and I'll be damned if I let anyone take that away from him. Even you.”

“You don't understand-”

“I understand very well. Circumstances have already kept me from my own son. I won't let you hurt my grandson.”

“It's been seven years…” Pyotr pleaded.

“Yes, seven years without you. Seven years ensuring that he doesn't get caught up in the mess you've woven yourself into. He's been fine for seven years, he'll be fine for seven more years. I don't know how else to get you to understand. You say he needs his father but you were never even that!” Nikolai didn’t realize he shouted into the receiver. Why he still hadn’t hung up, he didn’t know.

“…. Does _she_ see him?”

Nikolai sighed. Despite his efforts, his son truly did not care about anyone else but himself and his own feelings. “Do not make this a competition. Do not use him to get back at that woman.”

“I take that as a no,” Pyotr said, triumphantly.

It made him sick practically hearing his son’s smile. “Please, my son. Please stop this selfishness.”

“Do not call me your son when you're preventing me from seeing mine!” This was the real Pyotr Nikolai knew.

But Nikolai had enough. “Good bye, Pyotr.”

“Wait no! I'm sorry. I miss you so much!” He whined. “At least you can meet me. We don’t have to talk about Yur-”

“I will no longer let your feelings manipulate me.You will not be seeing Yuri. And that is my final decision. Goodbye.”

He slammed the receiver down, hands shaking in anger. He almost sobbed.


	2. Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri arrives in Russia for a mini competition.

Yuri Plisetsky, traveled to Moscow for a mini exhibition. Competing in Moscow not only meant returning to his homeland, but also meant he could see his grandfather, having traveled international city to international city with his coach, Yakov (and his coach’s ex-wife Lilia at times), for training and competing.

As they entered the lobby of their hotel, Yuri wheeled his leopard print luggage to Yakov’s feet. “I’m shopping,” he said, simply.

“I’m not your servant. You can carry that with you,” Yakov gruffed, though he made no efforts to stop Yuri from escaping into the gift shop, blond hair bouncing excitedly. Yakov huffed toward the check-in desk with multiple luggages in tow before his phone buzzed in his pocket. “I swear if the brat needs funds…” he grumbled before reading the ID on the screen. “Nikolai?”

“Yakov.”

“We just arrived at the hotel. Will you be picking him up later?”

“I’m afraid I cannot. I will let him know. However…”

Yakov glanced over to Yuri peeling jackets of racks that had the word “RUSSIA” embroidered on them, checking sizes one by one before huffing and puffing his way through the next rack. The coach pitied his student then. Meeting his grandfather was the only thing he looked forward to after such a lengthy trip.

“His father called me the other night.”

Yakov’s attention snapped back to the phone. “That is certainly concerning.” He kept his voice low.

“To be frank, I am afraid for his well being. Yuratchka’s location isn't exactly private. And based on the conversation, I'm afraid Pyotr may actually try to show up this time to make contact.”

Knowing both Nikolai and Yuri for as long as he had, he had no reason to doubt. He knew the rocky history of Pyotr Plisetsky and the trouble he has caused his family. “Do you have any photos of him? Or the name he has been living under? I can at least warn security. They do well to keep the ‘Angels’ off him.”

“If only this was as easy as dealing with those young fans of his," he let out a small chuckle. Yuri's rabid fangirls, self-dubbed Yuri's Angels, caused their share of problems. "I may have a few names, which may cause difficulty, and one photo that is a few years old now. But please, don't let Yura know. I fear that he will become curious as well.”

“Lilia and I will keep him safe.”

“I've forgotten you are living with your ex wife.”

Yakov snorted. “It's not as bad as you'd think. We have a common interest in taking care of your grandson. As you know, he can be quite a handful.” He smiled, glancing over to Yuri, approaching him with several bags.

“Thank you, Yakov.”

“Of course.” He hung up and pocketed his phone before feigning agitation. “Yuri. What useless things did you buy? You can go to any local store for clothes, yet you choose to purchase some needlessly marked up tourist items?”

“Mind your business,” Yuri spat. “They’re not for me. I’m sending them out to people I’m sure would rather have these novelty jackets than any local garbage I can find around here. The fashion here is so lame in comparison to Asia.” He blushed a little bit.

“I suppose you’d like for me to find the postage cost for Japan?”

“And Kazakhstan. And Indonesia.” Yuri ordered, lifting each bag to each country.

“What about Canada?” Yakov teased.

“What _about_ Canada?” Yuri glowered. “Oh?” His phone buzzed in his back pocket. Yakov saw Yuri’s excitement build and travel to the tips of his fingers as the otherwise graceful skater clumsily fished for his phone.

“ _Dedulya!_ We just arrived to the hote- oh…” Yuri’s shoulders slumped and Yakov sighed knowing what news greeted him on the other line. Having seen the boy carve through ice and his competition contrasted disturbingly to the sight now. “Okay… but I want a bag full of piroshky next time then, Deda.”

Yuri’s conversation continued as Yakov checked in, but he kept his ear on the conversation. The sad, yet hopeful laughter tugged on Yakov’s heart but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to let him off easy during practice.

“My deda said he couldn’t make it out. He’s having a hard time with his back, again. If there is time, I’d like to go see him.”

Yakov wished the world could see Yuri the way he saw him. There were few people like Viktor-- Yuri's peer, rival, and practically older brother-- and Yuri’s grandfather that saw him that same way. But Yuri harbored such a ferocity outside the rink and a balletic persona inside the rink, that even he himself, Yakov suspected, forgot that he was just a boy.

Yakov gripped him at the shoulder and playfully shook him. “Well then, we eat like kings tonight to prepare for the most intense training tomorrow so that once you win, you can boast to your grandfather."

Yuri pulled his hood over his head, hid his face behind his hair, and beamed.


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father meets son

Pyotr didn’t understand how exhibitions worked. He knew that people performed and people-- generally Yuri-- won. Pyotr wondered why Yuri would even bother with small competitions like this but assumed it was a form of practice while he visited his home country. 

The exhibition crept up under the radar, too. Unlike the bigger competitions, there wasn’t much buzz or press about it, just a few flyers at local stores and online event pages. The commotion created by “Yuri’s Angels” often worked more successfully than any marketing tactic the competition organizers could come up with. Pyotr nearly forgot as well, and showed up as the competition was well underway. 

Pyotr stumbled through the front doors, dodging the chattering crowds digging their eyes into the screens of their cameras while the competition played out before them. It didn’t seem like Yuri had performed yet, so perhaps Pyotr could catch him in a locker room instead. Yet, Pyotr, with keen, _concerned_ father instincts, realized Nikolai had already contacted the rink personnel, seeing them hover around various entrances. But he had nothing to hide, and strode through the doors with confidence. 

“You’re not allowed in this area, sir,” the guard said with a hand out. 

Pyotr smiled a customary smile and forced a soft, gentle laugh. “You’re making a terrible mistake.” He continued to walk.

The guard blocked his path. “We have specific instructions to keep crazed fans from the competitors. Please leave the area immediately.” 

His hand flew to his chest and his voice became stern. “I'm not a crazed fan.”

“Sir.”

Pyotr changed tactics. He turned his nose up embodying a prestige he imagined would come with being a champion’s father. “I don’t think you understand. I'm the family of one of the competitors.”

The security guard knew very well that he was not being paid enough to deal with this. “Sir. We are not letting anyone through this area. Please leave or you will be forced to leave.” 

“ _Mudak,_ ” Pyotr swore. 

The security team reported an incident of an non-competing, adult male attempting to enter the locker rooms to Yakov and that put him on edge. He wanted to pay more attention to the competition but he found himself eyeing the perimeter of the rink and plotting escape routes. Though this competition was small and localized, he taught Yuri to give all competitions the same effort of a Grand Prix. And more than feeling like a hypocrite, he felt guilty having missed a majority of Yuri's routine. He could watch the video later, he justified. 

A thunderous applause came from the small audience as Yuri posed in place on the ice, finishing his routine. His coach walked to the edge of the rink after the near-flawless demonstration he only remembered glimpses of and immediately guided him to a spare room used for makeup on the far opposite end of the locker rooms. Yakov squared his shoulders, shielded Yuri’s from an entity he wasn't sure of. 

“You’re too close to me, old man. I can’t breathe,” Yuri tried to step aside, but Yakov caught his elbow hard. 

His voice was low. “If there is a time for you to listen to me for once, it’s now, Yuri.”

If it wasn't his grip that stunned him, it was definitely the way the usually obnoxious coach said his name. Something quite serious had unnerved Yakov, so he obeyed for once. 

* * *

_**Moments Before** _

_Pyotr had the entire competition to find the best area to scout for Yuri’s exit points. He occasionally glanced at the routine, somewhat impressed at the speed and agility the young blond demonstrated, carving scars into the ice. He noticed some men at the edge of the rink, clad in polos embroidered with company logos or jackets with company names printed across the back, studying Yuri as they whispered to each other after every jump, spin, and step pattern. Potential sponsors, Pyotr slowly realized. They came to see Yuri in person to make a few offers._

_Pyotr stood as the routine finished, absently clapping along with the raucous audience. He planned to reach the edge of the rink before Yuri could leave it. What he didn’t expect was the coach basically carrying Yuri from the rink away from the locker rooms. Probably on high alert, he assumed. And after the confrontation with the guards, Pyotr had to be satisfied with watching Yuri from afar for today. He eyed the coach and athlete as they exited the rink and what little of Yuri’s face Pyotr could see from afar, surprised him. Yuri was made of air as he skated, and as he walked next to Yakov, his otherwise slack face was instead taut with focus. He was a ribbon to a rock in seconds, far beyond the fragile persona he created for himself on the ice._

_Based on their body language, Pyotr could assume Yakov instituted a paranoia into Yuri, so he dug his eyes into Yuri’s skin praying for a chance that Yuri would sense it and look up at him. And it worked. In the gaps of Yakov’s frame, Yuri looked out to the audience before disappearing through the back and locked eyes with Pyotr. Pyotr could tell that the sensation of familiarity overwhelmed Yuri and Pyotr smiled at Yuri’s eyes growing wide. Nostalgia, curiosity, or fear, or all of the above, made him look vulnerable and young. The look tugged on Pyotr’s heart._

_It was then Pyotr knew he had to meet his son._

* * *

_**Present** _

“I will get the video of your performance so we can review. Change in here. Do not go to the locker rooms. We will be leaving shortly.” Yakov fired off instructions, speaking quicker than usual. 

“What the hell is going on?” Yuri balled his fists as he demanded. Yakov made a silent move toward the door. “Yakov!”

“Tch.” Yakov’s hand rested on the door. He refused to look Yuri in the eyes as he spun his lie. “A crazed fan was seen trying to enter the locker rooms.”  
  
“What about the other skaters?” Yuri asked, half concerned and half skeptical.  
  
“They have their own arrangements. So please, just stay here until I come get you.”

“These ‘Angels’ aren’t exactly dangerous, though they are fanatical-” 

“This is not one of the ‘Angels,’ Yuri. This may be… a dangerous man. So please?”

Yuri never heard Yakov plead like that. He sounded more exasperated than all the other times he had to deal with Yuri's bad behavior. Yuri looked through Yakov’s eyes to search for other answers he could try to pry from him, but sensed Yakov’s strong resolve instead so he decided to drop it. “Okay. Come get me soon, then.”

Yakov shut the door and locked it from the outside. Yuri tried to change quickly. Regardless of if the crazed fan was one of “Yuri’s Angels” or not, he rather not have to interact with them. 

He removed his outfit and shivered, catching the cold air on his skin as he carefully placed the bejeweled garment in the dress bag. He pulled up his jeans, untied the braids from his hair, and searched his bag for his shirt and jacket with one hand while sending a text to Khazak figure skating champion, Otabek Atlin, whom he befriended in the last year. Though their friendship was somewhat new, Yuri felt comfortable enough to regale him of his achievements and vent his annoyances. The older skater seemed protective of Yuri any time they were together, having saved Yuri from being chased by his fans before, so it felt natural to vent to ‘Beka’ about the inconvenience of having to change in this small room. He didn’t notice that someone had slipped in.

“You're smaller in person.”

Yuri whipped around, his heart jumping from his chest. “The hell?!” 

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the weird back and forth. I'm not sure how best to write changing POV of things happening simultaneously. If you've read this far, thanks for bearing with this!


	4. Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's father successfully meets his son for the first time in years.

_Pyotr managed to stumble around the building avoiding security and a storming Yakov. He removed his jacket and his beanie, having been noticed with it on when he attempted to catch Yuri in the locker rooms, and deftly shoved them in the trash bins._

_He whipped around towards the hallway Yakov escorted Yuri down and found the hallway lined with doors. If he had to look through each one, he would._

_And he did, silently testing all the door knobs and peeking through cracks. He placed his ear against some to sense movement._

_They must have considered him to be non threatening or else they would have placed some security down this hall. Or they were dumb enough to think that no one who wanted to meet him in the operational wing of the building. Or they put him there on purpose so that Pyotr could find him. That had to be it._

_Eventually he stumbled on the sound of zippers and the rustling of bags. Pyotr didn't have to go through all the doors after all, just most of them. He tried the doorknob first, gently twisting it until he met resistance. He laughed at Yakov's futile attempt at security. Pyotr had broken into plenty of cars and homes unnoticed. This was no different._

* * *

_**Present** _

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you."

Yuri nearly crushed his phone in his grip, his defenses skyrocketing. He swore he heard Yakov lock the door. And yet somehow he was face to face with the very same man Yakov was trying to prevent him from meeting. Yuri didn't think it was possible to be threatened by voice alone or perhaps it was because Yakov labeled this man as 'dangerous'. But, how dangerous could one fan be? _Oh…,_ he uttered quietly as he imagined over 100 ways he could meet his end. Stabbed? Beatened? Was this a robbery? Revenge? Who did Yuri manage to piss off to get himself in this situation? 

Yuri clutched his shirt to his chest, wishing he had gotten dressed faster, feeling more vulnerable than ever.

The man inched forward, like a hunter catching a tiger, testing the boundaries of his prey’s fight or flight instincts. And Yuri inched back in unison, unlocking his phone and blindly sending a message to Yakov as his eyes stayed focused on the man whose gaze fell everywhere, clinical and curious. They were dull eyes that glinted with a sadness that didn’t match his voice. He didn’t seem lecherous or violent. He seemed lost. Yuri didn’t understand why and the uncertainty pinned him down, choking him. But what pained him more was his inability to tell the man to “fuck off.” This man was nothing like the ‘Angel’s,’ a gaggle of young fangirls Yuri could outrun or even overpower if he tried. This man towered over him, more than double his size, and Yuri wasn't stupid enough to even try to fight or outrun him. 

[ _I needyou now!!_ ] Yuri managed to send on his phone without looking, hoping whatever he ended up typing Yakov could decipher it and come back in a hurry. 

The man stopped moving once he noticed the phone in Yuri’s hands. “You’re very good,” he said cautiously.

Yuri tried to swallow his nerves, not knowing if the stranger commented on the competition or noticed the blind text Yuri fired off. “One doesn’t win gold by being just ‘very good,’” Yuri snapped.

Yuri clutched his shirt even closer and felt himself fold in the growing silence. He might have stopped breathing long ago. 

The stranger sighed. “My boy, Yuri.” 

In that moment, Yuri unraveled. This wasn’t a stranger after all. 

“I know you?” Yuri uttered the half question, his voice breathless, crushed by dread. He asked but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He took another step back and hit his side against the makeup counter, letting out a pitiful whimper that was more surprised than pained. 

The man reached out both his arms at that and Yuri flinched, retreating into himself, hoping he could just turn invisible. Yuri tried to move to just shove the man and run but it was all so much that Yuri couldn’t even make the simplest decisions. 

But the man didn’t attack him. Instead, he embraced him. Though awkward and mechanical, Yuri sensed a small pyre of warmth somewhere in it. It was as if the man had been out of practice but sincerely wanted it to be meaningful. Yuri almost leaned into the hug. 

Pyotr felt the tension in Yuri’s shoulder waver, and heard a soft and knowing whimper. Pyotr knew, he had him then. Hook, line, and sinker. “Did you miss me?”

“Fathe-” Yuri started, but was interrupted by the sound of men bursting through the door and Yakov shouting, “Get away from him!”

The man let go instantly, holding his hands up in the air and Yuri staggered, leaning against the counter for support. Why were his legs so shaky and his heart so loud in his ears? He thought his eyes stopped working then, only remembering the floor of the room. His head hung low afraid of looking up to see Yakov’s angry face. Anger at who? At Yuri? For letting the man get so close to him and for not having the power to fight him off? It was all so loud and confusing. Everything echoed yet Yuri couldn’t hear anything. There was so much movement but Yuri couldn’t tell what was happening. Everything felt like a puzzle that kept shattering with each piece Yuri thought he managed to connect. He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe. 

The man held his hands in the air and glanced at a dazed Yuri slipping off the counter. He could grab Yuri then, and keep him as a hostage, but he didn't actually want to hurt the boy… right? He hesitated and in the second he had to spare decided against it. So he stepped back from Yuri and happily smiled at security. They didn't think he was much of a threat then, he didn't want to make them think so now. Plus, they were just poor hired security for a small local ice rink. Dealing with Yakov must be out of their pay grade. 

And a fire grew within Yakov. He was as outraged as he felt guilty, witnessing the small boy entrusted to him barely holding himself up against the terror that wrecked his body, and the man with the scarred face, who smiled a gentle smile that he used to get out of anything. 

Yakov's glare was so full of hatred that even his own heart started to hurt, sending wordless threats to the man as security escorted him out with an unnerving lack of resistance. 

The closed door did nothing to evaporate the tension in the room and Yuri collapsed under the weight of it. Any semblance of the fierce athlete was crushed. 

Yakov caught him too easily and held him close, feeling the boy claw at Yakov's coat, twisting his fingers in the fabric and breathing a slew of erratic, confused, angry, and fearful breaths, assuring himself that his coach was actually there rather than lift his eyes up in fear of seeing the other man. 

"You're okay, now. You're okay," Yakov repeated, rubbing warmth back into Yuri's frame and hoping to still his shaking body and desperate lungs. 

"I'm sorry," Yuri choked between breaths, trying and failing to sound strong and controlled. He was sorry for being unable to speak. For not taking Yakov’s concern seriously. For letting the man get so close. For being weak in this moment even after years of proving himself physically and mentally as an athlete. For needing Yakov's support. He pressed himself against his coach trying to rid himself of the lingering touch by that stranger. 

No, not a stranger.

"Who was that man?" he asked, already knowing, as his breathing started to normalize, his voice muffled against Yakov. 

"A rabid fan," Yakov lied. He pulled Yuri off of his frame and held him by the shoulders. He spoke gently as Yuri still tried to hide his face in Yakov’s coat. "Let's go home. Finish getting dressed."

Yuri was grateful for Yakov’s lie. 

* * *

Security took photos of Pyotr's face before kicking him out of the building. Being banned didn't bother him at all. Pyotr got what he came for, or rather, was able to deliver what he needed to deliver. A hug to his dear son. 

He replayed it in his head, feeling triumphant. It felt like he administered a drug he knew Yuri would become addicted to. He reimagined Yuri's expression on the ice, slack and graceful, to his hardened persona of unmatched ferocity and intensity. But his favorite was Yuri's broken expression. That was the Yuri he needed. 

Pyotr smiled despite being forced off the premises, staying close enough in his car to see Yakov and Yuri meet a woman in the rink’s parking lot. She hugged him protectively and that infuriated Pyotr. She was neither his father nor his mother and therefore had no right. Although, seeing Yuri’s mother embrace _his_ son would infuriate him as well. He continued to watch them load Yuri's bags into her car before getting into the car themselves. 

Pyotr made sure to keep at least two or three cars between them. It was even more difficult since traffic was light. He memorized the license plate to pass the time until they reached a hotel. Pyotr drove past it, pulling out his phone and searched the number online. 

“Hi, I was wondering what time checkout is?” 

“Eleven, si-.” 

Pyotr hung up immediately and planned to return before eleven. 

* * *

The morning came quicker than either Yuri or Yakov hoped. Yuri’s body never relaxed after his competition and he was more sore than ever. He wasn’t sure he slept at all, curled up in the hotel bed with his eyes fixed to the door. 

A knock made him jolt and he wrapped himself even further, flattening himself into the mattress as best he could. He begged for it to be a dream, as he heard the keycard activate and watched the handle turn.

“You're still asleep, Yuri?” Yakov roared as he entered the room, all dressed and ready to go. Yuri sighed not knowing he held his breath. Yakov approached the bed noticing Yuri’s sunken eyes, distracted by something that wasn't there. He reached out, trying to get Yuri’s attention. “Didn’t sleep well, I take it?”

Yuri slapped his hand away. "I'll sleep better when I'm not next to a room with some old man that snores like a beast." 

"Hurry and get dressed then," Yakov chided. "And you can take care of your own luggage." 

Yuri groaned, slowly rolling out from the protective nest he made on the bed. "At least I don't over pack like a certain idiot."

"We agree on that. How I managed to travel with Viktor all those years…," Yakov reminisced. “And that boy loves designer luggage.” 

* * *

A car pulled up to the entrance of the hotel, and a tall woman with a tightly secured bun walked out from it. She had fewer wrinkles on her clothes than her face and her features were sharp enough to cut through ice. She barely offered a greeting upon seeing the two exit the hotel with their luggage.  
  
“Yakov,” she stated without emotion and he responded with a simple, “Lilia.” She turned her gaze to the boy and noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Her expression softened, though her body remained rigid, as she uttered a gentle, “Yuri.”

He straightened his posture from his previously unguarded stance and hardened his own features and emotions. He scoffed before helping himself into her car, leaving his coaches to tend to his luggage. 

Lilia forced a sigh then a smile and gestured for Yakov to load their luggage into her car. 

From the distance Pyotr watched, keeping the promise to himself to return just in time for them to check out of the hotel. He did feel bad for following them to their home but-- he rationalized-- the fact that he felt bad meant he wasn’t a bad person. Yuri, after all, was his son and Pyotr deserved to see his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always so nerve wracking trying to publish something publicly. So, thank you for keeping with this thus far.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov tells Nikolai what happened at the rink

Yakov and Yuri had a lovely dinner at Nikolai’s home where Yuri would be staying for some time. It was a modest, two-story house adorned with picture frames on almost every wooden surface. It harbored clutter here and there with antiques Nikolai couldn’t bear to and couldn’t be bothered to part with, though it was clean throughout. A collection of postcards from Yuri’s travels sat atop a display of dusty vases and china belonging to Yuri’s late grandmother he never met.

The dark walls and wood accents welcomed and comforted any guests or resident but what was the most striking was the kitchen where Nikolai spent most of his time. The used iron and homely decor-- mismatched floral towels and rustic cupboards-- drowned out any existing modern piece of kitchenware that Nikolai was gifted and neglected. And it always smelled wonderful.   
  
Yuri’s appetite betrayed his appearance and Yakov wondered where it all went as he and Nikolai drank together. Yuri updated the both of them on the other skaters, what they were up to based on what they posted online. He shared pictures of food posts in Kazakhstan to his grandfather and wondered if that could spark some inspiration in new recipes. 

From Otabek, there were plenty of cityscape pictures: buildings silhouetted against burning sunsets and starlight dusting at the edges of the dark. Yuri knew Otabek indulged in city night life but avoided posting anything the media could twist into some made up narrative. 

Yuri wasn’t immune to similar comments or rumors either, to which his grandfather urged him to ignore. Yuri knew that, of course, but couldn’t fight off the harsher ones that crawled around his restless mind during sleepless nights. 

As he scrolled through his feed, Yuri made audible noises of disgust each time he saw a picture of his rival-mentor, Viktor and _the other_ Yuuri. The Yuuri from Japan stole Viktor from him, robbing him of his teacher and the only other family member he had besides his grandfather despite sharing no blood. There still weighed a heaviness so bitter that Yuri couldn't help but scoff at photos of the two in the Japanese countryside, enjoying each other's company in hot springs or with forestry as backdrops, gold bands on each of their fingers. Yuri didn’t want to admit that he was happy for both Viktor and Yuuri, and exerted more effort to show his disgust when they posed like gushy high schoolers. They were adults after all but most importantly, they two were both formidable opponents that Yuri idolized and envied and missed dearly. Yuri thought about sending Viktor a message about it but decided against it, appreciating social media distractions instead. 

When he reached the end of his feed, Yuri yawned deeply. Nikolai sent his grandson to bed, not before a hug and a congratulatory pat on the back. Despite the events that occurred at the rink, Yuri slept soundly, protected by his grandfather’s pride and the weight of his pet cat, Potya.

Downstairs was a little less peaceful.

“You were right, Nikolai, he came,” Yakov groaned, exhaling tension he didn’t know he held in since the competition. 

Nikolai set his bottle down on the table gently, to Yakov’s surprise, given the news. Nikolai ran his hand over his face, pulling on the wrinkles. 

“Security took his picture. I have that now as well, I can send it to you?”

“Please do.”

A few button presses and the picture was on it way over.  
  
Nikolai’s cell phone chimed but he didn’t bother to look. Not just yet. “Did he find Yuri?”

Yakov leaned forward on the table, lacing his fingers together to keep his hands from shaking with guilt. He looked Nikolai in the eye. He could at least give him that much. 

“Yes. Yuri was changing when I received a text message from him. I don’t know if anything was said between them, but when we entered the room, Yuri was quite shaken. I don’t believe he knows his identity, though. I’m so sorry, Nikolai.”

“Your news becomes worse and worse,” he half laughed. "Yurachka was maybe about seven or eight the last time he saw Pyotr. I wouldn't doubt he remembered." 

Yakov sighed. "He’s keeping it all to himself, then."

"He will find something to lash out at as a distraction." 

"We should stay on our toes."

There was a long silence between the two. So much was said without either of them uttering a single word. Nikolai reached for his phone but absently held it in his hand while Yakov pretended not to notice his hesitation. When worry burned through the remaining parts of them like the final moments of a used candle, Yakov took his leave. 

"You're welcome to stay," Nikolai offered knowing well that Yakov would decline, as was routine. 

"I appreciate your offer, but I have business to attend to," Yakov responded autonomously, business being sleep he would not get until well past midnight. 

They shook hands before Yakov made his leave. He paused halfway out the door. "Nikolai… the picture you sent me is very different from the one I sent you. Just… prepare yourself." 

When the door shut, the house settled, and solitude filled the air, Nikolai swiped through the menu of his phone just like how Yuri taught him. Staring back at him was a man with ashy blond hair, and an angular face. His chin was squared out and hair was unkempt so much so that it seemed like he cut his hair himself. He had multiple small scars running along the side of his face and a deep gash right under his left cheek bone that healed on crumpled skin, shining like plastic. Though the man didn't look particularly dirty, he looked as if he would smell like burning firewood. This was all so strange to Nikolai who held his hand to his mouth, holding in an inexplicable feeling, as he studied the man's eyes. It was the only familiar part Nikolai knew.

Nikolai traced back to moments of his life when Pyotr's behavior took a turn and wondered what he could have done differently as his father. He then felt sorrow in imagining if Yuri had turned out the way Pyotr did. 

Yuri's mother left first before the drinking and drugs got worse, taking her infant son with her. Once the separation was official, both Pyotr and Eva used custody as a weapon, taking turns trying to strip each other of everything until Pyotr was introduced to petty crimes. Burglaries and loans helped with child support as much as it did add extra bottles in his fridge but Pyotr missed out on all of Yuri's firsts: first words, first day at school, first time ice skating. 

As a reward to herself in raising their son, Eva took the support money to buy coats, handbags, and jewelry, reveling in a past time when she used to be some what of a one-hit wonder before she gave it all up for family. Eventually Eva changed her mind in being a mother, so she dropped Yuri at Nikolai's and never looked back. Pyotr visited on his best days, but his best days grew far and few between and then stopped altogether. 

Nikolai moved to a nicer neighborhood to better support his grandson so that he may never go down the same path as his parents. 

* * *

Pyotr found Yuri’s social media pages, scrolling through the feed with one hand and letting a cigarette burn between his fingers in the other. Rumors of a crazed fan meeting Yuri quickly lit up online forums and through some comments on Yuri's own posts. It was apparent Yuri tried to drown those out by sharing a picture of the sky, a dark blue enveloping the final pinks of a setting sun and no identifiable buildings, with the caption "Home" and a Russian flag. 

Pyotr commended the careful, ambiguous post as he chased the icy burn in his lungs with a beer, sitting in his dark apartment lit only by his phone and the dull ember of a dying cigarette. He had forgotten every day for the past month to change the bulb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I've written up to a certain place where I'd like this story to go, and have outlined a large bulk of it. I'm excited to post the next parts after some serious revising. I hope I'll be able to confidently publish those soon. (I've also discovered the horizontal rule tool here, so I'll be going back to previous chapters to fix the formatting and try to write better summaries.) Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos- it's been super motivating! Hope you're staying healthy and safe!
> 
> Edit: I just realized a whole paragraph didn't get copied over, so that was just added;;


	6. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the scare, Yuri lays low at his grandfather's home, finding alternative ways to train indoors.

It had been almost a week since the competition. Lilia sent Yuri some routines and exercises he could perform inside Nikolai’s home consisting of stretches, forms, basic dance movements, and body weight training. They wanted to avoid any ice rinks for some time and thought it'd be better for Yuri to continue to stay in the quiet neighborhood under his grandfather's care. 

Yuri started his stretches on the floor of his own room after shoving the piles of clothes and plush toys he received from fans into a corner. Potya eyed her human curiously atop the mound as Yuri folded himself with legs outstretched, taking deep breaths as he threw his arms over his head with great flexibility. 

He then moved to the stairs where he jogged up and down them, first facing forwards and then sideways. And from there moved to the backyard where he used the wooden fence as a makeshift ballet barre, reinforcing his body's flexibility. 

Nikolai helped by rewarding Yuri with big meals and staying out of the way. He'd beat the rush at the markets in the morning to find the best ingredients for cooking or gift extra dishes he made to men his age who only complained about the food despite excitedly devouring it each time. They laughed and grumbled in a language consisting of grunts and insults that only old men seemed to understand. 

But the time Nikolai came home from his friendly visits and errands, Yuri was out from a shower. They chatted about cool things Yuri saw online until Nikolai fell asleep in front of the TV and Yuri migrated to bother Potya with his phone's camera. 

When Nikolai finished his nap, he began cooking. The smell lured Yuri into the kitchen where they silently basked in each other's company. 

And it repeated just like that and Yuri and Nikolai were content. 

Eventually, Yuri got restless. He grabbed a muted sweater buried under his tiger prints and pulled it over his head, tied his hair in a tight ponytail, and peeked outside. He looked up and down the streets until he heard nothing but the soft hum of the world-- a few birds, some garbage rustling in the wind, an electrical current here and there. He mostly noted the absence of voices. No people meant no problems. 

He added a light jog to his routine during his training days, leaving the same time each day when no one was around. He turned at the corner of the block and circled back to the house to complete his route. Though it was brief, the air and the sun did wonders for Yuri's overall mood and Yuri had almost forgotten about the whole incident on the day of the competition. 

Pyotr noticed from his car parked two blocks down. He noticed the bob of his son’s head as he turned the corner of the block and circle back to the house. It was the same time every other day. 

On the third week, Pyotr got out of his car. 


	7. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's at home training is interrupted by the man he thought he'd never see again.

Per routine, Yuri left for his jog in the cold and early afternoon. He donned a dark sweater atypical of his normal sense of style, tied his hair back, and went off into the empty streets. When he got to the end of the block, he turned the corner as he had done many times before these past weeks. 

There was nothing-- no sign, no odd feelings, nothing-- to make Yuri think that the day was going to be any different from the days before. The air smelled the same and the breeze had the same brisk chill. People were at work, school, and the like and so the streets were bare just the same as ever. 

But when he turned the corner, he saw Pyotr leaning casually against a stone fence, perking up at the sight of him. Yuri’s heart dropped into his stomach as he stumbled to a halt. A million questions battered through his head. Why here? Why now? Why again? He thought he was careful. He thought this was over. 

Yuri balled his fists trying to convince himself to run back towards the house than demand answers. Or he could tell the man to move aside and continue with his day-- but he doubted that would happen. He grit his teeth and turned to sprint back toward the house.

  
But just as quickly, Pyotr grabbed at Yuri’s shoulder and when Yuri tried to throw his arm back, Pyotr caught it. They stood frozen like that for a moment with Yuri refusing to look him in the eyes. 

“Yuri, please-”  
  
“Don’t!” he shouted, still trying to twist his arm from Pyotr’s grip. 

“I just want to talk! I’m sure you have questions.”

The panic settling in his bones made struggling painful. The helplessness tired him quickly and the frustration made him weak. 

Pyotr held on, his entire hand swallowing Yuri's entire wrist and some. Yuri used his free hand to peel apart Pyotr's fingers, but they wouldn't budge. Yuri wanted to break his own wrist off. 

"Yuri, stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Then let me go," he hissed. His wrist started to burn in the friction of a relentless grasp and his arms started to feel heavy. Yuri cautioned, “I’ll scream.”

“No one’s around,” Pyotr laughed. “You made sure of that, didn’t you?”

Yuri’s eyes shot up at Pyotr then. His mouth hung agape with a wordless plea for freedom. He thought he was careful, but he was just stupid. 

“Just,” Pyotr sighed, surrendering to Yuri's pitiful eyes. He didn’t realize how wide and sad his son’s eyes could get compared to what he saw during the day of the competition. Pyotr slowly loosened his grip before forcing him into a hug. “Come here.” 

Yuri hated himself for letting him.

“See? This isn't too bad," Pyotr smiled.

Yuri bit his lip before he could agree. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but Yuri didn’t want to admit it and still didn't like it. It lasted far too long. 

"I don’t think you need me to say it," Pyotr continued. "But, I’m your--”

“Don’t be stupid,” Yuri shoved him at that. After all, Yuri hadn’t realized he had forgotten this man until a few weeks ago. He broke free from the embrace, though Pyotr didn’t try to restrain him anymore. “Keep those worthless words to yourself.” 

“I’ve seen the broadcasts,” Pyotr started, cautiously, expecting Yuri to flee. But the boy stood there, legs too weak to move, poisoned with uncertainty. “I’ve seen videos online, too. You're so… I’m so proud of you.”

Yuri neither needed nor wanted the shallow praise. But maybe if he let the man talk at him for a while, he would leave forever. 

“You’re faster and sharper than your fellow competitors. But your body,” Pyotr laughed. It sounded strange. Insulting. “Your body is so small. Too small-- which makes you perform certain routines extremely well. But, uh, I think you can afford to be like the man from Canada.”

Yuri’s expression darkened. What even was this? “Are you here to praise me or hurl insults at me?” He didn’t want to admit the words stung and the duality caught him off guard. 

“You don’t understand, my son. It’s all your mother’s fault. She cursed you with a small body. But don’t worry, it’s not too late for me to teach you how to get big and strong. To be a man.”

“This _body_ won me several medals,” Yuri seethed. But Pyotr didn’t seem to hear him and continued the backhanded compliments. 

“Don’t you think you can be even more of a winner? The other competitors are just so,” Pyotr gestured a hand above his head then flexed. 

Yuri scowled. That was proof the man had no idea what he was talking about. Size didn’t determine all things. Neither masculinity nor femininity determined anything. And yet Yuri couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself for letting the words of this man affect him more than any online comment he received. “That’s because they’re all fucking old, and I’m-” he didn’t want to say it. “...still developing."

“You're still a child," Pyotr pointed out. "And children need their fathers. Please, Yuri, let me be a part of your life once again. I want to make it up to you and I… I want to apologize to your mother.”

“My mother?” Yuri scoffed, incredulously. The conversation lost all logic and sense. It was overwhelming and he hated to admit that he wanted someone else there with him. Anyone else. 

“Will you help me?” Pyotr continued. 

Yuri hadn't really thought about his mother for years. Maybe it meant something that it was Pyotr, not his mother, standing before Yuri-- even if he had to stalk him to get there. Yuri had known they both left him with his grandfather but never fully understood why. He was too busy winning to think about it. 

“I want to know more about you now that I have finally chased you down. You see, your deda has been keeping you from me.”

_For good reason,_ Yuri thought before giving a deep sigh.

“I can meet you here again. We don’t have to let anyone know. You can tell me about skating. I want to know more about you.”

Yuri remained silent weighing his options. Maybe Yuri would be the cat curiosity kills in the end. But he felt like he had to know now. Why did this man bring up Yuri's mother? He crossed his arms. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Anything about you. How are you enjoying skating? I mean, you’re obviously a champion-- a record holder, was it? But really how does it work? Do you have friends?”

Yuri spoke about his friends as vaguely as possible, hiding any details that could be used against him. "There are some, I get along with. In these solo exhibitions, everyone is an opponent. But in making it that far, everyone deserves to be cheered on. It's hard not to root for them even if you're better than them," he admitted.

“Do you have sponsors?”

“Of course.”

“How does it work? They pay you?”

Yuri raised an eyebrow at him.

“Apologies. I just am curious to know more about your world, my son.”

“Don’t call me th-” Yuri’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He quickly glanced between Pyotr and his pocket, unsure if Pyotr would snatch it from his hand. Instead, Pyotr offered a polite smile and gestured for Yuri to pick it up. 

“Allo?”

“Yuriooooo!” Viktor Nikiforov, champion figure skater and the former record holder before both Yuris surpassed him, howled through on the other line. “I heard you were in town! Yuuri and I are too! Won’t you join us for dinner?”  
  
“Um, sure,” he uttered softly, trying to hide his relief in hearing a familiar voice. He glanced to Pyotr who pretended he was giving Yuri a moment of privacy. 

“You're awfully calm,” Viktor laughed. “Is something the matter, Yurio?”  
  
“N-no! Not at all. I already said yes, didn’t I? I’ll text you later, okay?” He hung up quickly, trying to gauge how much of Viktor’s obnoxious voice bled through the speakers.

When Yuri looked up, Pyotr held up a piece of paper with numbers scrawled on it. “If you’re not comfortable exchanging numbers, here’s mine. Just in case you ever want to… hang out again.” He smiled, genuinely. 

Yuri said nothing when he took the paper and didn’t react when Pyotr gave him a pat on the head before leaving. 

Yuri stood on the corner of the sidewalk alone, hand pressed to where the touch lingered. He started to hear voices returning to the neighborhood and the soft drumming of cars pulling up to their driveways. 

* * *

Yuri dragged himself home and closed the door, checking the locks one, two, three times before he was satisfied. His grandfather would return from the market soon so, as routine dictated, Yuri took a shower. He noticed reddish marks forming on his wrist and tried scrubbing at it to no avail. As he exited the shower, the marks revealed itself as finger shaped bruises that wouldn't have existed if Yuri hadn't tried to run from that man. He groaned at his incompetence and reached for a long sleeved shirt. 

Yuri curled up onto his bed, grabbing Potya into his arms, feeling even more exhausted than any of his workout routines. When Potya had her fill, she broke free and scurried to the other side of the room. Yuri rolled onto his stomach, pressed his face against his pillow, and let out a scream he held in since this all began. He screamed until all the air escaped him, trying to force the fear and anxieties that welled up within him out too.

Air slowly returned to him, as did the natural color of his cheeks. He stared at the ceiling until he no longer felt like he was drowning. 

When he resurfaced, he reached for his phone and the sheet with Pyotr’s number. He fiddled with it until it started to curl. 

_Yuri: [When were you free for dinner?]_

The reply came a few minutes later. 

_Viktor: [We were hoping for tonight. Are you free? Where are you staying?]_

_Yuri: [Staying at my grandpa's. Send me time and address]_

_Viktor: [Let's do 6ish. We'll pick you up! Rented a nice car :) ]_

Yuri gave another deep sigh, before swiping away Viktor’s response. The interaction was too brief and he needed a longer distraction. He dialed for someone else.  
  
“Yuri?”

“Hi, Beka.” 

“How are you?”

Yuri hesitated. “You posted on Instagram, are you traveling?”

There was hesitation on Otabek’s end too. Yuri pressed his lips together. He didn’t have the energy to recap everything that happened. 

“...I’m in South Korea for a little bit.”

“Training?”  
  
“No. Mostly vacation but I have a few gigs here.”

Yuri couldn't wait until he was old enough to not have to sneak into a club to see Otabek dj live and spare the Khazak Hero from feeling bad about it. 

“I heard the clubs in Korea are incredible.” Yuri gave a content sigh. It was refreshing hearing the voice of a dear friend and his own voice sounded light in his ears. “Hey, you should send me some Korean snacks.”

“I can do that." Otabek inhaled, deeply. "Hey, Yuri. I actually meant to call you earlier."

Yuri already knew what was coming and found himself reaching out for Potya who just stared at him from across the room. _Dumb cat._

“I saw some things online and… are you okay?”

Their friendship was fairly new, but they clicked instantly. Otabek was an adult three years his senior and their lifestyles were largely different but they had a lot of common interests. In truth, Otabek admired Yuri for many years and had thus become protective of him, too. Because of this, it was hard for Yuri to lie to him. 

“It’s been… busy, or rather, my mind has been busy. But, it’s nothing some time on the ice can’t fix.”

“Who was he?” 

“He’s--” Yuri heard the front door open then close and nearly dropped his phone. He was so sure he locked the door. He checked at least twice.

Somehow he was no longer in his room, which made no sense. He could see the floor of the makeup room and hear frantic footsteps outside the door. But just a moment ago, he was holding Potya on his bed. Yuri tried to breathe through it, but found he couldn't take in a deep enough breath to think straight. His wrist started to burn. 

Otabek imagined the worst. He heard choked noises coming from the receiver and uneven breathing. To him, it sounded like Yuri was dying. 

“Yuri?!” Otabek’s voice grew louder with concern, reacting to Yuri’s erratic breathing. Nothing but helplessness and dread creeping into his bones. “Yuri, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

"B-beka, I-" Yuri tried so hard to focus only on Otabek's voice, to respond to him. He curled into himself, making him smaller on his bed. 

“Yurachka!” The voice downstairs called out. It was only his grandfather. “I’m home!”

Yuri gasped, his attention snapped back to his room. He was losing his mind. He was falling apart and losing his damn mind.   
  
“Yuri?” Otabek was still on the other line. 

A few minutes passed as Yuri collected himself. To the both of them, it felt like hours. 

“I’m here. I’m sorry," he breathed, pulling the phone away from his ear so that he could inhale deeply. After a moment, Yuri explained, "My grandfather just came home and… startled me.”

“Startled you?” Otabek almost laughed at the lie, his own voice quivery. What he heard was hardly anyone being startled. 

“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yuri… okay." Otabek sounded beyond worried, but he didn't want to press. "Call me any time. I mean it. Any time.”

“Thanks… Have a good show. Bye.”

Yuri crumpled up Pyotr’s number and tossed it across the room. Maybe Potya would eat it up.


	8. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Viktor treat Yuri to dinner and are alarmed when they discover what he's been hiding.

Viktor and Yuuri ended up craving Japanese cuisine and found a small mom-and-pop in the neighborhood. 

They picked Yuri up, as promised, and he remained mostly quiet in the back of the car except for a few huffs of affirmations to Viktor’s extravagant tales of the different places in Japan he recently visited with his Yuuri, staying there semi-permanently now, frequenting St. Petersburg when they were able. Recently, they found themselves in the tourist traps of Moscow and thought about relocating there for the time being. Yuri wore a deep scowl to hide his relief for the company. 

Eventually, they arrived at the restaurant adorned with lanterns, statuettes, and other stereotypical things that made Yuuri laugh. 

"Um… Yurio, your eyes..." Yuuri uttered as they got out of the car. His eyebrows furrowed on his kind, round face displacing his glasses slightly. He prodded politely, noticing they were red at the edges. "Have you been- " 

"Are you going to stare at me all night or are we going to head inside?" Yuri snapped, shaking his hair so that they covered his eyes, and walked straight past Yuuri. 

Inside, Yuri sat next to Viktor and Viktor across from his fiance. The young boy managed to avoid both their eyes, though he felt Yuuri's on him. He really hoped Viktor wouldn't notice. 

"So how are you spending your time in the ' _motherland_?'" Viktor asked Yuri, lightly. 

_Being stalked and sort of attacked by someone I had forgotten_ , he thought. "Training. You two should try it sometime."

Viktor playfully ruffled his hair, shuffling blond streaks aside to reveal glossy, red-rimmed eyes and unshed tears.

"Yurio…?" Viktor breathed, moving his hands to cradle the young boy's face. 

"S-stop…" Yuri protested softly, blinking furiously to soak up his watery eyes. "It’s just allergies."

Though not convinced, Viktor pulled away, looking downtrodden as their food arrived. 

Afterwards, the conversation felt hollow and forced. But as the night went on, full of food, their moods improved. Being surrounded by familiar faces, Yuri had almost forgotten about the day. He even laughed at the blissful expression Yuuri made over his meal and how completely captivated his former mentor seemed by it. 

They returned to the car and Yuri reached for the back seat door, the movement lifting his long sleeve. 

"Yurio!" Viktor gasped, noticing the darkened marks on Yuri's wrist. 

Yuri forgot about those. He snatched his wrist away from view, not remembering the marks looking so swollen and blue. 

Viktor's hands gently reached for them. 

Yuri didn’t have the energy to stop him and a part of him wanted to confess his mistake. "Viktor, don't. I want to go home."

"Yurio," he responded firmly, gently rubbing a thumb over the marks. Upon examining them, he realized they looked like finger marks. "Oh, Yurio.” His heart ached. “Does this have anything to do with the man from the rink?"

"Take me home. I want to go home," Yuri repeated. 

"Yurio, we’ll take you home right now, but you have to tell us what happened," Yuuri urged, equally as distressed as Viktor. 

Yuri wanted to protest but he relented and nodded. 

* * *

Nikolai was sound asleep when they entered, so they kept their voices low. 

In the kitchen, Yuri explained the first encounter and how Pyotr snuck into the makeup room. He then described how he encountered Pyotr earlier in the day due to his carelessness. When Yuri said he bruised himself in Pyotr's grip, Viktor and Yuuri looked at each other before they looked back at their young friend. Yuri's testimony left a sour taste in their mouth. 

"Yurio," Viktor interrupted. "None of this is your fault, you understand that?" 

Yuri was taken aback at first. "Of course not," he declared. He averted his eyes, failing to convince even himself. 

Viktor and Yuuri stayed with their young friend until they were convinced to leave. They said their farewells and Yuri retreated upstairs. He curled into bed, reached for Potya, and didn't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the last chapter recently, and have a few more things in between to write and edit. I think this will end up being 14 chapters and I'm excited to share. Thanks for reading!


	9. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's concern begins to suffocate Yuri and interferes with his training. He seeks comfort elsewhere.

After hearing about Yuri’s encounter with Pyotr, everyone kept a close eye on Yuri. At Nikolai's request, Yakov picked up Yuri every day to take him to the ice rink by car. It was too close for Yuri’s comfort, though he understood and didn’t try to fight it initially. It didn’t take long before it grated his nerves. 

In the mornings when the rink was empty, he’d skate for hours under Yakov’s supervision. And although it was often just the two of them, he felt like everyone’s eyes were on him. Yakov’s, Viktor’s, Yuri’s, his grandfather's, everyone. It was unfamiliar pressure, different from the pressures of competing. He tried to shake off the feeling, carving deeper and faster into the ice, faster and faster until he felt like he was a blur to the world.

That was when he fell for the first time in a long time. He heard it before he felt it and the initial smack against the ice only hurt after he rolled and slid along the cold surface. When Yuri felt comfortable enough to get up on all fours, he smacked the ice beneath him hard with a fist like it betrayed him. 

Despite Yakov’s urges for him to stop, Yuri kept skating. The embarrassment stung more than the impact and affected his movements. Every jump, spin, and step was a little less graceful. He could feel it and he knew that Yakov saw it, though not just Yakov, but Viktor, Yuuri and everyone else who wasn't there. So he tried to go even faster. His chest heaved, desperate for air while his heart demanded more. To go even faster. This way, he could prove to everyone that nothing had changed.

That he was the same. Great. Capable. 

When Yuri landed a series of jumps, he glanced at Yakov who looked more disappointed than proud. Yuri chose to ignore that as he skated to the opening of the rink. The more wrinkles appeared on Yakov’s forehead and his frown deepened but before Yakov could say anything Yuri said, “That won’t happen again.” 

“Are you talking about your tumble or the fact that you’re being reckless?” Yakov was angry now, but he could see that Yuri was at a loss for words for once. “Yuri…”  
  
“Stop!” Yuri retaliated. “Stop saying my name like you pity me! I’m fine.” 

“It’s alright if you’re not fine,” Yakov half sighed and half yelled.   
  
“I said I’m fine,” Yuri repeated.

Yakov dragged a hand down his face. “Maybe it’d be better to get Viktor.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” 

“Then stop acting like a baby!”

Yuri's eyes were blown wide, shaking with outrage. He couldn’t believe Yakov would strike so low, insulting him in a way that he knew would hurt him. Yuri had done so much to prove himself better than, if not equal to, his fellow competitors, most of whom were adults. He was young, he knew that, but only he could take advantage of the fact that his body wasn't developing as fast as everyone else his age and sold his body, mind, and soul to get everyone to forget that. 

Yakov sighed again, knowing how much damage he had done despite trying to stem the athlete's self destructive behavior. “Yuri-”

“I want to go home,” Yuri interrupted, emotionlessly, as he stepped out from the rink. His hands were shaking, making it nearly impossible to untie his skates. 

They were silent all the way back to Nikolai’s. 

* * *

The following day Yuri silently gave Yakov a bag of his grandfather’s pirozhki. Yakov accepted both the gift and the unspoken apology and the two rode the rest of the way with restored faith in each other. 

When they got to the rink, Viktor and Yuuri stood near the entrance and greeted them. Yuri shot a look at Yakov and his coach replied, “This has nothing to do with me.” 

Yuri stepped up. “What are you doing here, old man?” he asked Viktor, pointedly ignoring Yuuri after a brief glance. 

“Training, of course,” Viktor smiled, innocently. "You said it yourself, that we should 'try it sometime.'" 

“We could probably wait until after you’ve finished, but we wanted to take advantage of how empty it is in the mornings,” Yuuri explained, politely. 

“Just don’t get in my way.”

The two Yuris took to the ice dividing the rink in half while the two coaches couldn’t help but observe both athletes proudly. Viktor leaned on the edge with his head resting on interlaced hands while Yakov looked on with a stoic face and crossed arms. From the other end, Yakov gave his former student-turned-coach a single nod and Viktor smiled back brightly. 

When Yuri landed a flawless triple lutz, Viktor exclaimed, “Wow! That was beautiful, Yurio.”

Yuuri stopped his own movements to compliment his younger rival, but his eyes wandered to Yuri’s wrists. They were covered under his sleeve, and the marks were probably faded by now, but Yuuri could still imagine them. 

The young blond caught his eye line. 

“Did you forget to put your contacts in? And you,” Yuri turned to Viktor, shouting across the rink. “Don’t look at me. You keep an eye on _Katsudon_ over there. He’s the one that needs it.” Attention or judgement wasn’t anything new, but Yuri knew they weren’t watching his techniques, they were waiting for him to break. It suffocated him.   
  
“I’m going to get air,” Yuri resolved. Yakov motioned to protest, but Yuri raised a hand as an order for him to not bother. After their exchange yesterday, Yakov begrudgingly obliged. 

Once outside, Yuri inhaled deeply, arms reaching above his head. He took inventory of the scene - a few birds on the wires, cars parked here and there, people walking in light jackets preparing for the changing season - to remind himself that this was normal. From across the rink he locked eyes with two men that seemed to notice him first. They didn’t stand out in a particular way except looking a bit rough around the edges, noticeable scars on their faces and exposed skin. Yuri rushed inside, his blade guards clicking with every step. 

He was completely quiet when he returned. 

After a brief warmup, Yuri moved into his first jump. He landed crookedly and short one rotation, but maintained his balance in the end. His disappointment was clear on his face.   
  
“Build momentum from the first rotation, Yuri,” Yakov advised. 

He fell on his second attempt, but rolled back onto his feet. As he made rounds on the ice, he tried to shake out the nerves he felt since seeing those scarred men outside. They reminded him too much of Pyotr. His knees felt weak and he knew he should have stopped. But he didn’t.

On the third attempt, he landed hard. 

“Yurio!” They all called out for him. Yuuri was at his side instantly while the coaches looked on in worry. 

Yuri pushed himself up until he knelt on the ice, heaving with one hand to his head. He slapped away Yuuri's helping hand and just tried to breathe past the throbbing of his head. He was dizzy but felt worse when the facility's onsite medic arrived on scene. He tried to stand but between the dizziness and his shaken legs, he couldn't hold his weight and slumped back onto the ice. 

"Yurio, it's okay if you're not okay," Yuuri said softly, arms outstretched as if he could still catch him if he fell. 

"I'm fine," Yuri lied even as they guided him out of the rink. 

They gave him an ice pack to hold against his head and asked Yuri basic questions while they shined a light into his eyes. He answered stubbornly and embarrassed, then waited until they were done speaking to Yakov for far longer than expected. 

When Yakov returned to his pupil, he sighed, "You just need some rest, but you're done for today."

"I'm fine. I just need a little break and I can get back in there." 

"Yuri, you're not fine."

"I'm not fine with everyone breathing down my neck," he tried to shout, to be angry, but he was developing a headache and it hurt to talk. “They’re simple jumps, let me just show you I can-”

“Listen to yourself. It’s dangerous if you are not able to land these ‘simple’ jumps. You’re done,” Yakov barked. 

Yuri had half a mind to throw the ice pack at him but decided against it and slammed it down next to him instead as he got up. He bit his lip to bite down the dizziness just to prove a point. He didn’t think he fooled anyone, but he could pretend. 

In the car, Yakov had a loss for words and was lost in thought. The whole "Pyotr Thing" stumped him to no end. He missed the days when this young, shining athlete was obsessed with Viktor. But now Pyotr was dangerously affecting Yuri. With Winter competitions approaching, Yuri wouldn't want to be holed up either. "This won't do," he mumbled aloud. 

Yuri swallowed upon hearing Yakov's disappointment. "Are you done with me yet?" 

The question didn’t register at first. For Yakov, it seemed to come out from nowhere. "What are you talking about, Yuri?” But remembering what he said aloud, he connected the dots. “No, no, no. Yuratchka, no. I was lost in thought. Just an old man mumbling." 

"Maybe you shouldn't be 'lost in thought' while driving," Yuri sighed, scowling to the window he leaned against. 

Yakov's hands gripped the wheel a lot harder, eyes flickering between Yuri and the road ahead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he responded, curtly. The conversation ended after that. 

Yuri entered the home first, leaving the door open for Yakov to follow and debrief with Nikolai over details Yuri didn't think he had to know. He ran straight past his grandfather and up the stairs, stomping up each step on the way. He slammed his door so that they'd know not to follow. 

Emotion welled up inside him and it all started to spill out. He hated himself for it. A disciplined athlete and champion record holder throwing a tantrum, he knew he was being a brat but his mind and his actions didn't sync up. 

He couldn't stop his mind from reaching into the recesses of his memories and pulling out the fragments of unforgotten scenes: his mother holding his hand as they approached his grandfather's old home, her voice echoing, "I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore," Nikolai holding Yuri close that night. Yuri remembered seeing his dad infrequently. There was no routine to that, but he brought toys. 

Those memories were a blip in his timeline, so it shouldn't have bothered Yuri as much as it did. But his own mind continued to tell him all the things he didn’t want to know. First his mother left him then his father disappeared, and even Viktor chose the other Yuuri over him as his coach. With how Yuri has been acting, it'd be on course for Yakov and Lilia to drop off next, and maybe even his grandfather, in his old age, couldn't be burdened any longer. He hadn't even heard from Otabek since the day he called him, so maybe that was already over. 

But there was one person who said he wanted to be a part of Yuri’s life. _Right?_

Yuri knocked over the pile of mess he had in the corner, digging, digging, digging. 

He flipped his blankets and threw himself on the floor to look under his bed but it wasn't there either. He whipped around to see Poyta gnawing on something now wet and formerly white and shooed the cat away from it. He rescued the soaked strip and tried to press it flat on his desk. The ink bled but Yuri was relieved it was still legible. 

He texted the number. 

_[Tomorrow?]_

The reply came almost immediately. 

_[Tomorrow.]_


	10. Rendezvous

Yuri waited at a nearby park, sitting on a bench that overlooked the lake that froze over on the colder days of Winter. That was still a month or two away, but the ducks and swans were already on their way to some place warmer. Stubborn trees held onto their final leaves but the park existed in perpetual sundown, the reds and oranges blanketing all surfaces. 

Yuri heard the crunch of leaves before he saw the man. He flinched but didn't motion to look. 

"May I sit?" 

Yuri didn't want to say yes but if he said no, what was the point of any of this? “Whatever,” he muttered, despite scooting over to the edge of the bench. Pyotr took to the edge of the other side, and despite that, he felt too close.

Pyotr broke the silence first. “I’ll be frank. I’m surprised.”

“Well, you wanted this, so there you go.”

“I did. I did,” Pyotr laughed, navigating quietly. “Will you tell me about your day?”

Yuri’s hands gripped his knees to keep his hands from shaking, hugging his side of the bench as much as possible. “Nothing but training. I’m bored of it.”

“But without it, you wouldn’t be successful.” 

“That’s generally how it works.”

“I watched another video of you. Your face is so intense when you perform, but I'm distracted by all those sequins. Couldn't you wear something less flashy?”

Yuri scowled, wondering what Pyotr thought of the world of figure skating, if he even tried to understand it. It was apparent that this was not the case. But, even if Pyotr told him half compliments, Yuri could ignore the criticisms. He just wanted someone to talk to someone who wasn’t careful around him like he was made of glass. 

“What have you been doing all these years?” Yuri asked, unprompted, not really realizing he spoke out loud. He turned to Pyotr, staring straight into his eyes for an answer he knew Pyotr’s mouth would contradict. 

The question seemed to stun Pyotr. Or, at least Yuri appreciated that Pyotr pretended it did. When the silence grew too long, Yuri continued staring straight at the swanless lake. 

“The truth is, Yuri,” Pyotr forced a sigh. “I left because I knew it was better for you. But I couldn’t stay away for very long. By the time I came back, you and your _deda_ had moved.”

Yuri grimaced. Was that true? It didn't sound completely unreasonable but it also sounded rehearsed. But it was better than the nagging he would hear if he was home and he wanted to pretend and play family for a while longer. 

Before he could formulate a response, Yuri heard a shutter click. 

“What the hell was that?” Yuri seethed as he whipped his head into the direction of Pyotr who had his phone out. The whites of Yuri’s eyes grew as his heart dropped into his stomach. 

Pyotr hummed, unaffected. “I just wanted a picture of you.”  
  
Before Yuri could demand for the picture to be deleted, Pyotr continued, “I only have one from ten years ago. See?” He pulled out a familiar picture of Yuri from his wallet, faded and crumpled. In it, Yuri tested his first pair of skates, hands out as he balanced on the ice by himself proudly, and it was Pyotr’s hands hovering near him to catch him if he fell. The camera didn't focus on Pyotr's face but Yuri could tell how much the man had changed. He was scarless, less squared out, boyish, and young. Really young. The hands that floated protectively around a young Yuri were inexperienced and unprepared. The still photo told him so many unsaid things.

That stung Yuri into silence. Pyotr cared enough to keep a picture of Yuri. 

Overwhelmed, Yuri demanded the rendezvous to end. “It’s getting late.” It was hardly the afternoon. 

Following his lead, Pyotr replied, softly, “This was nice.”

"Yeah."

* * *

Yakov cut back practices. Yuri overheard the conversation between two old men where his coach believed that Yuri’s current “mental state” would be dangerous during training. Nikolai wondered if it’d be better for Yuri to stay at Yakov’s or Lilia’s for the time being, but upon hearing that, Yuri burst from the shadows he hid in and protested. If he stayed at either of his coaches', they wouldn’t let him out of their sights. And he couldn’t bear the thought that Nikolai was throwing him out. 

In his distress, Yuri shot off another text to the unsaved number to meet again. And again, the response came back immediately. 

They met on and off for weeks. It was amazing even to Yuri himself that he managed to slip under everyone’s radar for these secret rendezvous. He felt a pang in his chest, realizing he sought to meet Pyotr only when he was feeling particularly anxious, which was more and more frequent. But when Pyotr brought up Yuri’s mother, Yuri remembered he was being used too. 

“So about your mother,” Pyotr started. 

“You said you wanted to apologize, right? For what exactly? What did she do that you didn’t?” Yuri sighed.

“Hold on, Yuri. Your mother took you and left me first.”  
  
“There was probably a reason.” Yuri couldn’t believe he was defending some woman he hardly knew. 

“I fought so hard to get you back, do you remember that?”

If Yuri tried, he could piece together some memories of a courtroom, but that was about it. It was all too confusing at the time, so he never grew to understand what happened until now. 

“Listen, Yuri. She didn’t think I was a good man. But I’ve learned and grown. I just want my family together as it should be,” he pleaded.

Yuri scoffed. “So, what’s your plan?”

“I want to give her a ring. There was one she loved but I couldn’t afford to propose with. They still make the design. Same cut and everything.”

_Oh…_ Yuri knew exactly where this was going.

“The problem is, I still can’t afford it.”

“But I can,” Yuri frowned. “Unlucky for the both of us, I can’t touch all my money. Not an adult yet, remember?”

Between prize money, sponsorship money, and other one off deals, Yuri amassed quite the account. Responsibly, he and Nikolai set it aside, though in retrospect the contract terms prevented situations where some stranger reentered Yuri’s life asking for his money. Nikolai never needed nor wanted to touch it, happy with his modest way of living. He never asked for it either, believing Yuri owned and deserved the entirety of it. The truth was, Yuri wasn’t barred from accessing his account, but he avoided looking at the numbers. His motivation in winning was winning, not prize money.

Pyotr reached out for Yuri’s shoulders before the conversation could end, his grip a little too hard. It scared Yuri more than it hurt him, but even trying to ignore the sting of Pyotr’s grip, Yuri’s breathing became erratic and his chest tightened. He looked up and saw the eyes of a very, very desperate man. Dread ground against his bones. 

“But you must have something, right?” Pyotr hissed.

Yuri, wide eyed and defensive, stood up too quickly, breaking from Pyotr’s grasp and losing all senses. The world spun. “We’re done here,” Yuri commanded as much as his shaky breath would allow, staggering off without looking behind him. He tried to get home as quickly despite his weakened legs.

Yuri understood why Pyotr chose to come back. Playing the role of heartbroken father with a ten year old picture of his son in his wallet was just a service he was providing. Despite knowing that, Yuri wanted to believe Pyotr wasn’t the liar everyone said he was. 

The text came late at night.

_[I’m sorry. I didn't mean to scare you]_

Yuri ignored it.


	11. Overdue

In the dead of night, in the unnamed streets and unlit alleys, Pyotr got knocked to the ground.

“You said you would have the money by now,” a man with a beanie and leather jacket cracked his knuckles ready to strike again. 

“I know. I know,” Pyotr’s voice shook, his hands outstretched as a pathetic shield as the side of his face throbbed. “I’m really close. I just need an extension.”

“‘Really close?’ Is that another lie? That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

Behind Pyotr another man in a hooded sweater reached into his pockets, picking up Pyotr’s wallet, phone, and other garbage they pulled from him. The hooded man checked the wallet surgically, having done this many times before. It was empty save for one crumpled up picture.

“This is new. Wasn’t in there the last time we did this.”

“I stole that out of an old man’s house. Look, it’s all part of my plan. Please put that back.”

Face unchanged, the hooded man dropped the photo on the floor. He stepped on it and tossed the wallet back to Pyotr’s face. With rough, thick fingers, he helped himself through Pyotr’s phone, looking for anything that could “help” Pyotr keep up with his payments. There were infinite pictures of a young blond teen from all sorts of angles.

“You take up stalking, Pyotr? A little young for you, no?” The hooded man laughed. “Look at this shit, there’s like a million pictures in here. You know, I swear I’ve seen this bitch before.”

“Th-that’s my son. He has the money,” Pyotr explained, hissing through the pain swelling up in his face. “I’ll get it from him soon.”

“Son?” The hooded man scoffed in disbelief and disappointment. “Could have fooled me.” 

Pyotr’s face grew hot.

“This kid has _your_ money? What do you take us for?” The jacketed man moved over Pyotr, gripped him by the collar, pulling him so close Pyotr could see the scarring under his eyes and alongside his face.

“It’s true! It’s true!” Pyotr cowered behind his hands. “He’s a champion figure skater. Look him up, if you don’t believe me. That’s money, you know? Winners get millions-- even billions-- of ruble.”

“Millions, huh?” The jacketed man dropped Pyotr. “Alright. If this kid is your son, then you’ll have no problem providing double of what you owe.”  
  
“Now, hold on--”  
  
“Consider it a fee for having to chase you down.”

The hooded man continued flipping through the pictures. “Oh, I know where I’ve seen this kid! He hangs out at the ice rink in the other district, right?” He said pointedly as he grinned at Pyotr. 

Pyotr grit his teeth, embarrassment and fear sinking to the pit of his stomach. 

“You have until the end of the month, Pyotr. We’re going to get our money whether it’s from you or _someone else_.” The hooded man tossed back the phone, opening to the most recent picture of Yuri in the park where father and son had met, looking so lost in thought. 

“ _Mudak_ ,” Pyotr said under his breath as he watched the two walk out of the alley and into the dark. 

He crawled to lean against the wall, trying to shove his wallet back into his pocket. His hands hovered over the picture of a young Yuri he stole from Nikolai’s house, pretending he had a keepsake of Yuri for all these years. 

_[Are you free soon?]_ He texted Yuri.

* * *

Viktor and Yuuri took their young friend out to lunch. 

“This is nothing like what your grandpa makes, huh, Yurio?” Yuuri was already half way through his meal. But he looked up when he was met with silence.

Yuri hadn’t touched his meal at all and their food came out half an hour ago. 

“Yurio?” The couple looked to him still unresponsive.

Yuuri reached out and placed his hand over Yuri’s. “Hey,” he said gently, yet the blond still jolted in surprise.

“I, uh, wasn’t listening. What?”

“You’re a bit out of it. Are you okay?”

“Tired, I guess. I’ll go splash water on my face,” he said as he moved toward the restroom.

When he was completely out of earshot, Yuuri turned to the platinum haired man across from him. “What are we going to do with him, Viktor?”

Viktor huffed. This was a problem he was unfamiliar with, and tried thinking back to his own teenage years for answers. He was suddenly distracted by a text notification that appeared on Yuri’s phone saying “ _Would tomorrow work?”_ from an unsaved number. 

“We know who the problem is,” Viktor mused, half to Yuuri and half to himself. “But the police won’t look into it seriously if it’s not one sided. I think we’re going to stay in Moscow for a bit, Yuuri.”

* * *

**Tomorrow.**

“I’m sorry for how our last meeting ended.”

“Cut the bullshit. What happened to your face?” Yuri pointed with his chin to the swollen and blackened parts on Pyotr’s face. 

“Just a simple fight. Nothing too troublesome.”

“Uh-huh,” Yuri responded, unconvinced. He stared at the man with the beat up face, scars from old incidents wove into an untold story. “Alright, I’ll do it,” Yuri surrendered to the man’s sad eyes. Yuri wasn’t convinced that Pyotr would be happy with that ring, but his options were to allow Pyotr to take the ring and leave forever or actually feed this insatiable curiosity Pyotr cursed him with. 

“Really?” Pyotr’s smile grew too big for his face, his hands unclenched with relief and hope. 

“What does the ring look like?” Yuri surrendered. 

The next day Yuri made a beeline to the jewelry shop. Pyotr had texted him the location and sent a picture of the exact ring with a 150K ruble price tag. The clerk didn’t give him much of a hard time about it after recognizing Yuri and the exchange ended faster than expected, a relief to Yuri’s rapid beating heart. He shoved his purchase into his backpack and turned to the exit. 

The buzz of a new customer rang at the door and Yuri grew wide eyed.  
  
“Viktor?!” He couldn’t help but exclaim. Fanatic commotion came from the store clerk after.

“Oh? It’s Yurio!” Viktor exclaimed back, taking off his sunglasses. “What a surprise!”

“W-what are you doing here?” _Distract him._ “Where’s that dumb pig of yours?”

“Ah, Yuuri? He’s back at the place we’re renting temporarily. What are you doing here?” He asked, politely. Knowingly. 

Yuri was suddenly extra aware of the valuable he tucked away in his pack. He clenched at the straps trying to formulate a lie but nothing would form. He was unlike Pyotr in many ways after all, he thought. 

“Did you start dating someone?” Viktor teased. “Buying something special for them?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Yuri panicked. “Why are you here, again?”

“It’ll be Yuuri’s birthday somewhat soon, so I’m shopping.”

“Whatever. I’m going to leave now. Good bye, Viktor.”

He rushed out the door and sped walk down a few blocks before he stopped to text Pyotr. 

_[I have it.]_

_[Same place?]_

_[Yeah.]_

They met at the same bench that overlooked the lake. The leaves dissolved back into the ground and the colorless trees signified snow was coming. It was quiet and cold. Yuri shivered as he took off his backpack to retrieve the ring. 

“Oh, Yuri. I don’t know how to thank you. She’ll love it and of course I’ll pay you back as soon as I can,” Pyotr couldn’t help the greed shining in his eyes. It made Yuri nervous and scared. 

He knew he'd never see the money again, but this wasn't about that. Yuri just wanted to go back to feeling safe. He just didn't know if that meant with or without Pyotr. But it was too late now. His hands quaked as he motioned to forfeit the ring, but a distant voice startled him, and he whipped around. 

“Yurio!” Of course it was Viktor.

“What the-?” Yuri breathed before pocketing the ring. 

Pyotr almost snatched it from him as the too cheerful man approached them.

“Wow! What a coincidence running into you here?” Viktor slung an arm around Yuri.

“Wh- what are you doing here?” Yurio grunted, yet he found himself leaning into Viktor. He was relieved, if anything. 

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Pyotr reached his hand forward to snatch Yuri’s arm, but Viktor moved as quickly as he did on the ice and pulled his young colleague slightly behind him, positioning himself between the two Plisetskys. 

“Who’s your friend?” Viktor’s smile was wide, closed, polite - not unlike his press smile, but his tone was something threatening. “A fan?”

Viktor moved forward closing the gap between him and Pyotr. “Would you like a picture, sir?”

Sensing defeat, Pyotr sighed and gave a lukewarm smile back. “Oh, I’m too embarrassed for a photo, but thank you.” He leaned to look at Yuri but Viktor innocently leaned with him, continuing to block his line of sight. Pyotr pressed his lips together and forced another smile. “Thank you so much for your time. My son, he is a big fan. He’ll be so excited to hear that I ran into _The_ Yuri Plisetsky.” 

As Pytor turned to walk away, his expression soured. The solution to one of his biggest financial problems fell from his grasp so easily. It was the end of the month and time was running out. 

When the man fully disappeared from view, Viktor turned to a stilled Yuri, the front of his jacket crumpled up in shaking, clenched hands. 

There was a part of Viktor that wanted to scold him. To ask him what the hell he was thinking. But Viktor knew the answer and knew Yuri was a just victim in that man’s game, no matter what Yuri may believe. So when he turned to the young boy, he moved slowly and carefully, arms outstretched like he tempted a frightened kitten.

“Yuri?” He prodded with the same voice he used to calm down his Yuuri during stressful days. Viktor expected Yuri to turn tail and storm off or even lash out at him violently. But he was surprised when Yuri ran forward into Viktor’s chest, burying his face to hide silent tears. Viktor didn’t want to soothe him out loud, the young boy’s pride was too large and already so damaged, so he silently wrapped his arms around him, hiding him as much as he could from the world’s view. When the shuddering stopped and the daylight started to dim, they went home to Nikolai’s. 

As soon as he opened the door he sought his grandfather, hugging around his middle as he sobbed loudly and openly like he was a child again.

“Yuratchka? What’s wrong?” Nikolai tried to pull Yuri off of him, but he wouldn’t budge. When Viktor stepped through, Nikolai demanded to know what happened, though he could already guess by the drained look on his face. 

They sat at the round dinner table where Yuri buried his face in Potya’s fur, holding her tightly like a stuffed animal. Viktor warmed his hands on a cup of tea Nikolai made for him as he watched the heartbroken grandfather rub circles into his grandson’s back. 

“Yuratchka, how long has this been going on?” Though his voice was naturally gruff, it was full of sadness that made Yuri hurt even more.

“A few weeks… maybe a month or so…” he confessed, knowing it had been almost two months. 

Nikolai couldn’t hide his disappointment. 

“Can we ask what he said to you?” Viktor chimed in, wanting to actually be more useful than he felt. 

“He said… he wanted…” It was too hard for him to finish his sentences. He sounded too pathetic, too weak, and in complete honesty, he knew that everything Pyotr fed him was a lie. He felt shame that he knew it but still played along. “He said he wanted to get back with mama,” he mumbled onto Potya’s head. 

“That man,” Nikolai dragged a hand down his face. 

“I knew he was lying. He just wanted money in the end, but…” 

“You still wanted to see him?” Viktor provided.

“Y-yeah.” He peeked at Nikolai with red rimmed eyes. He could almost hear his grandfather question his own parenting and grand parenting skills, so Yuri explained, “It’s not like you haven’t always been there for me. You’ve given me everything. I don’t have an answer as to why I did it.”

“Yuri, I need you to understand you did nothing. I know my own son. This was his doing. Now, I don’t know what I should have done to prevent this, but the fact is he is drawn to trouble. I was so happy that you found something to help you grow into a strong man. Maybe I wasn’t the best father, but I hope I am good enough for the best grandson.”

“What are you saying?” Yuri finally let Potya go, embracing his grandfather once again. “You’re the best.”


	12. Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Yuri moves, he gets a visit.

Yuri didn’t want to leave. He felt like he spent so much of the last few months looking over his shoulders that he didn’t spend enough time with his grandfather. But winter approached, and so did the season of competitions. 

Yuri packed up his things, including the ring he bought for a forgotten scheme, and said his goodbyes to his grandpa and his cat, Potya. As much as he wanted to bring the cat with him, he figured his grandpa could use the company. 

He’d stay with his coaches, Lilia and Yakov, again where they could focus on him and he could focus on his training. 

And so the season began.

It only took a few days after moving in when an unknown number began blowing up Yuri’s phone. He didn’t recognize it as the unsaved one Pyotr used but he opted to ignore it anyways. It rang again and again until it chimed with a new message.

_ [Is this Yuri Plisetsky?] _

Yuri held the phone in a vice grip, staring at the message while his heart raced. Nearby, Yakov noticed his pupil’s distress and approached so when it rang again, he snatched the phone from Yuri’s hand and picked it up on his behalf.

“Who is this?” he gruffed, menacingly. Although the person on the other line couldn’t see, Yakov puffed up his chest, ready for a fight. Despite his age, he could probably hold his own in a boxing ring. There was a pause before Yakov sighed and looked at Yuri. “Atlin.”

Perking up, Yuri lunged for the phone. “Otabek?!”

There was a breath of relief on the other end. “Yuri, I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“I don’t recognize this number…” Yuri explained, quietly. “I didn’t want to pick it up.”

“Oh, right. I lost my phone in South Korea. I got a new one but didn’t have your number. I tried messaging you online.”

“Have you?!” Yuri had deleted his social media apps after the first stalking incident.

“Yeah. I had to go through a few hoops to get to you. No one has your number, do they?” It was a rhetorical question. Both Otabek and Yuri didn’t socialize much with the other athletes. 

Yuri didn’t hear the question. His heart was so full of relief he felt like he was floating. “I thought… that maybe…”

“Hmm?” 

“I just assumed that maybe you were done,” Yuri pouted. “With me.” As he said it outloud it sounded both stupid and entirely plausible at the same time. 

“Did you really think that?”

“I don’t anymore.”

“Good because that’s not the case for me either,” Otabek exhaled. “When you didn’t reply, I assumed the worst. To be honest, it really messed me up. I haven’t been able to sleep. No one we knew had said anything, so I thought no news was good news, but I just wanted to be sure. So I’m here in Moscow.”

“Sorry, Otabek, I didn’t mean to-- Wait,” Yuri jolted upright. “You’re where?!” 

“I just got off the plane.”

“You idiot, hold on.” Yuri rushed down the lavished halls chasing after Yakov, whom he nearly tackled. “We need to go to the airport.”

* * *

Yuri shouted his name as he approached the Khazak star beaming with a bright energy no one had seen in a few months and were starting to forget.

Otabek responded with a slight smile, which was a lot for him. “Thank you for picking me up.”

“I can’t believe you’re here! What were you thinking?”

“I told you over the phone. I wanted to se-”

“I know what you said!” Yuri interrupted him, trying to stop him from saying anything embarrassing. “You’re supposed to be training.”

“I know. But I can do that later. I’m here just for the weekend, though. I fly out tomorrow night.”

“Huh?! That’s so short!” Yuri pouted.

Otabek smiled, “So let’s make the most of it.” 

Yakov offered to take his bags and let them roam free. It would be good for Yuri, he thought. When he helped Otabek load the car, he kept his voice low, “I’m sure you’re aware of what has been happening?”

“Hm. Yeah,” Otabek replied.

“It’s a difficult thing to balance-- his freedom and his safety, but I’m sure with you, he’ll be safe today, right?” It almost sounded like a threat.

If it was a threat, Otabek proved himself by remaining composed and undaunted. His eyes fired up, however, and Yakov took notice. “As long as I’m around, he will be safe.”

“Good.”

They waved Yakov off. 

Yuri and Otabek spent the whole day together. They spent time in a trendy cafe where Yuri indulged in a sugary latte and they split a delicately decorated cake. Yuri pulled out his phone for a picture, but Otabek noticed he pocketed his phone quickly after.

“You’re not going to post that?”

“I’ll do it later,” Yuri brushed off the question. He hadn’t redownloaded his apps, yet. He didn’t want to.

Otabek had some trouble keeping up with Yuri as they moved through the city. Sightseeing, window shopping, and snacking was the norm for them when they did spend time together, but Otabek noticed Yuri didn’t want to stay at any one place too long. 

Yuri seized up near any men with a specific stature, taking a moment to analyze their face, the color of their eyes, the texture of their skin. And when they passed the check, Yuri would move on only to do it again after a few steps. They could slip into the shadows when the fangirls came, but this was something different altogether. 

“Yuri, slow down,” Otabek said finally, reaching out for his shoulder.

“Ah, are you tired? I didn’t even think about how long your flight was.”

“It’s fine,” he shook his head. The last time they spoke Yuri was a mess on the other line and Otabek was miles away unable to help. This time, he promised it’d be different. “Just stay with me.”

“Right. Sorry,” Yuri matched Otabek’s pace. 

His fellow competitor and friend proved himself a great shield between Yuri and his paranoia. It didn’t take long before their conversations went back to normal as he hid in Otabek’s shadow. 

“Oh, shit, Beka! Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” 

“Hm. Yeah,” he replied.

“Let me treat you out to dinner then!”   
  
“You don’t have to.”   
  
“I want to.”

Otabek dug his chin into his scarf, hiding his smile. “Um, sure. That’d be nice. But, could we go tomorrow? I don’t know how much longer I can last. I don't have your stamina.”

“Will it be too late? Your flight is tomorrow, right? Because you only booked it for the weekend for some reason,” Yuri teased. 

Otabek laughed quietly. “Can we have an early dinner?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“I want it.”

“Okay then. I’ll surprise you. Let’s head to Lilia’s for tonight then,” he pulled out his phone to call Yakov.

They spent the night like two school children in a sleepover. It was mostly Yuri loudly giggling over dumb photos he found online, but the tug on Otabek’s lips meant he was enjoying it too. Otabek shared what photos and videos he recovered from South Korea while they both ate the snacks he brought along with him. Lilia forced the two in moisturizing facial masks if they “were to ruin their bodies with junk food all night,” and the two laughed at the photos they took of each other, under their ghostly personas, though Yuri criticized Otabek’s poor attempt as a silly face. The otherwise stoic man said he tried his best and Yuri told him his lack of facial emotion reminded him of his grandpa. They laughed until their stomachs hurt and fell asleep. 

They both slept so well that night. 

They were inseparable the next morning too, ditching any guilt of needing to train for the upcoming season and thrusting themselves in the busy tourist areas again. Though Otabek admired Yuri’s focused, soldier-like aura during training and competitions, the innocence of bliss was refreshing and needed. Through the sport, the two of them had an eagerness to reach adulthood, and so Otabek took advantage of the moment that he and Yuri could act as young as they were.

The evening came quickly and they rushed to Yuri’s chosen seafood restaurant. He even made reservations. 

“I thought something besides meat and potatoes would be nice. Our last chance to eat ourselves sick before we can’t for the next few months,” Yuri explained. 

“I’ve had cravings,” Otabek responded, voice devoid of emotion, but his eyes brightened. 

Yuri beamed.

As they ate, they ignored passersby in the window who recognized them, not-so-secretly taking photos of the two athletes. They were blind to the world as they ate their weight and more. And of course, even when they already over packed their stomachs, Yuri demanded dessert. 

Yakov came with Otabek’s luggage and to pick Yuri up, a favor he said he’d only do once, and left the two to their goodbyes.

“This was a nice birthday,” Otabek said. “Thank you.”

“Too bad you can’t stay longer.” 

“We’ll see each other again soon,” Otabek held his hand out.

“Naturally,” Yuri smiled, reaching for the handshake, but Otabek pulled him in instinctively, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

“Keep fighting, Yuri Plisetsky,” he said seriously, yet gently. “I’ll see you on the ice.”

Yuri reached up, shakily returning the hug he wasn’t aware he needed. “You too, Otabek Altin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the relationship Otabek and Yuri have, regardless of if that's just friendship or something else. It was fun imaging what the two would do if they hung out together and Lilia forcing skin care routines on them. I also really like the idea of protective Yakov lol. I thought this would be a nice break for Yuri, since the next chapter is titled "Punishment." I hope this has been enjoyable so far. Thanks for reading!


	13. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come to collect (aka Yuri gets hurt really bad). Also the chapter with the title drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I did add "assault" to the tags because of this chapter. Sorry it wasn't there before, I'm not accustomed to how AO3 tags work. I don't think it's anything graphic enough to warrant a warning tag, but please let me know if there are any other tags missing!

It had been weeks since Yuri talked to Pyotr Plisetsky. And just like all those years ago, Yuri had forgotten about him. The swell of relief he felt seeing a friend, living with his coaches, and focusing on the upcoming competition season were the only things on his mind. His grandpa sent pictures of Potya almost every other day and Yuri shared those with the world after comfortably redownloading his social apps. 

The comments came in like a flood. The ‘Angels’ sent in hearts and other emojis almost instantly with every post. Yuri could almost hear their collective screaming, “He’s posting again!” He didn’t feel guilty about it at all. He even posted the picture of the cake he shared with Otabek during Otabek’s surprise visit, tagging the fellow skater in the picture of the lone, decorated cake and inciting even more interaction with their raucous fans. 

_ [OMG were they hanging out?] _

_ [Where is this???] _

_ [That looks so good! I want to share a cake with you!] _

Comments came in all sorts of colorful words and different languages and although their excessiveness otherwise annoyed Yuri, he appreciated how normal it all felt. 

Yuri had proven himself capable of displaying a more innocent grace outside of his comfort zone during the last competition, but Lilia and Yakov sought to utilize the similar training for the upcoming one. Despite his complaints and stubbornness, he practiced as just as hard off the rink as he did on it. He needed to surprise the judges yet again. 

There were more people than he expected at the rink he practiced at, the colder weather always gave people the craving of skating. And sometimes the other Yuuri’s training schedule would intersect with his ever since Yuuri and Viktor temporarily relocated to Moscow. Yuri wondered if they would ever go back to Japan or St. Petersburg during this season. He refused to admit he enjoyed seeing them often. Even after a few habitually light insults at Yuuri, they would both help each other with a few tips and tricks to their coaches’ surprise.

“Wow! He’s all grown up,” Viktor mused aloud with Yakov agreeing with him with a single grunt. 

* * *

Yuri went alone one morning to the rink on his rest day. Had it been a year ago, he would have spent it smuggling snacks into Lilia’s home and eating it in front of the computer while online shopping for more cat print t-shirts and jackets. He just felt differently that day, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders allowing him to jump higher and skate faster. 

But he was wrong. A weight loomed over him the entire time. 

"Yuri Plisetsky," a voice addressed him as the blond athlete walked out of the rink with his gear packed sloppily in a duffel that hung from his shoulders. 

Yuri looked up from his phone to two men-- one in a beanie and another with a hood pulled over his head-- squared chins, sunken eyes, and scars on their faces. He’d seen them before.

A swell of emotions overtook him-- frustration, mostly, having thought he made it past the worst of all this. But also an enormous feeling of dread that told him this wasn’t going to end well for him.

He motioned to call the police, his grandpa, Yakov, anyone, but they were quick and grabbed his phone from his hand and yanked him by the collar into a nearby alley. Air was knocked out of him when they threw him against the wall. He couldn’t even yell. 

"You're small," one of them with a beanie observed, sounding almost regretful, like a bear trapping a kitten. 

Yuri scowled. He knew that. He knew he was small for his age, he knew that he was too small to fight back these men. It was never a problem before. He could bulldoze his opponents, carve circles around them. He remembered his grandfather said he was so strong. But Yuri hadn't felt strong since Pyotr showed up and just as he felt like he regained back his strength, it was siphoned out of him instantly. 

Yuri turned to run. Where? He didn’t know. He just wanted to get away. But they grabbed his hair and yanked him to the ground. 

"What the hell do you want?" Yuri shouted in a pained gasp. 

"Your father is a bad man," one said calmly, surgically, devoid of emotion or effort. He kicked Yuri hard in the stomach. 

Yuri didn’t expect that at all. Air escaped through his grit teeth. He tried to roll over to stand but the pain radiated through him. He managed to pull himself to his knees but knew he wasn’t going anywhere, legs already wobbly from practice. It was the fear that magnified the pain. 

"He is a liar," another kick right in the rib cage as Yuri was able to pull himself to his knees. He fell over again, gasping hard. 

"He is a con artist." 

Yuri wasn’t sure where they were hitting him anymore. He just felt it all over. 

"He is pathetic." They kicked him again. 

"He is a coward." And again.

In his panic, his hearing went first. He could hear the men but it sounded muffled. He couldn’t think too many steps ahead either and only wanted to get to his feet. But with every movement, pain shot through his body, and he was sure that he would start sobbing soon. But he refused to do it in front of these men. He focused on trying to breathe, despite the air getting kicked out of him each time. He focused on trying to get onto his feet, despite being knocked down each time. He thought about stupid things like how cold the snow felt under him or how stained his favorite jacket was going to get from the shoe marks. He thought his mind went numb then. 

"You will see Pyotr again," the beanied man said, not a question, and not quite an order. Almost a prediction. "And you will tell him that he's next if we don't get our money." 

Yuri said nothing, gasping as he folded into himself. His eyes were glossy and unfocused but no tears had fallen. And still Yuri tried to stand, his hands shaking as he tried to push himself from the ground. 

"Do you understand?" they asked. 

Yuri hated it. They spoke to him so casually as if they didn't just kick the shit out of him. Talking to him like how adults spoke to young kids, with just a hint of compassion that Yuri wanted to latch onto. Anything to save him from the piercing cold that bled onto his face as they stared down at him. 

They were waiting for an answer. Yuri swallowed and finally looked them in the eyes. 

"But just to make sure-" one grabbed his hair again, pulling him up right. 

"Wait!" Yuri managed to cry out as the man's other hand wrapped over his mouth. His hands were so big that they nearly covered his whole face, suffocating him. Yuri kicked and wriggled with all his might, yelling despite how weak and muffled he sounded. The other man grabbed his leg. They were nearly lifting him into the air. The more he struggled the more the man pulled on his hair, he felt like they were trying to tame an animal instead. 

He scratched and thrashed and kicked almost untangling himself from their grip, but they set him hard on the ground pinning him against the cold concrete and that hurt just as bad. The tears started to flow now. He swore at them behind the man's hand, his lungs burning for oxygen. 

One man held him down by his face and hair, the other held onto his legs and stretched them out. He looked at Yuri in the eyes as he stared down at him. 

"You will make sure Pyotr pays," he said as he drove his heel down to Yuri's captive leg. 

He screamed. But no one heard him. 

The man did it again. And again. And again. Each time, Yuri heard the snap of bone echo in his body. The man acted so casually, like it was a chore snapping twigs in the forest for kindling. 

Yuri’s entire body shook, vibrating with fear, panic, and pain. He still tried to fight even when he felt limp and weak, clawing at his captors uselessly. The man uncovered his face and Yuri inhaled greedily, but his ribs felt sore and his breaths were shallow. He didn't want to look at the men anymore, so he looked idly to the sky. 

He didn’t dare try to move his leg. He didn't want to think of it. But they didn't give him the opportunity to ignore it as the man stretched out his other leg. 

Yuri whimpered. 

The man looked at his leg and said, "No. We may need to come back for this one if Pyotr doesn't fulfill." 

Yuri should have been washed with relief. 

"Remember to tell Pyotr to give us our money," he said as if they just did Yuri a service. And they left. 

It happened in broad daylight, yet no one noticed. Yuri loved hiding away in the bustling towns away from fans and other athletes, but he regretted that then. Had there just been one other person with him, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be lying on the ground with broken bones, a split lip and bloodied nose and who knows what else. He stared blankly at the sky as his body throbbed for help, managing to roll over after minutes that felt like hours. But that helped very little. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand and he was having a hard time sitting upright. And his leg, beyond immovable, felt shattered to pieces. 

Tears flowed from his eyes freely even as he scanned for anything that could help him. Then, he saw his phone, though within reach, the screen was cracked and the display was warped. He couldn't figure how to call emergency services through that screen. 

He dialed the one number he memorized. 

" _ Allo _ ?" Viktor answered. 

Yuri sobbed harder hearing his voice. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

" _ Allo _ ? Yurio?" Viktor heard his sobs and desperate gasps trying to fill his lungs from all the expended energy. 

"Viktor..." was the only thing Yuri managed to say. He felt tired and overwhelmed at the same time. 

"Yurio?! Yuri!" Viktor was louder now, breathless, moving without a direction and acting on instinct. Yuri could hear their dog, Makkachin, barking at Viktor jostling keys and the rustle of his jacket while the other Yuuri asked what was wrong in the background.

Yuri felt himself fading, like his body tried to force him to sleep so that he could wake up from a bad dream. The snow seeped into his clothes. He felt damp and gross and tired. The blood from his nose started to stain his jacket. There were small blood stains at the front of his shirt where the skin broke from getting kicked. But his body felt sore and tired from being held down like some animal. Any ounce of adrenaline evaporated from his body and his eyes fluttered struggling to stay awake. 

"I'm at the ice rink. They came here to…" he managed between sobs and a fading consciousness. "They broke…I tried…" his voice was barely a whisper before he gave up and let himself close his eyes and rest for a bit. 

* * *

"Yurio? Yurio?" Viktor's eyes were wide. He couldn't even imagine what was going on the other line. 

"Viktor?" Yuuri prodded gently. 

"Something has happened,  _ milyj _ . Will you put on your coat and come with me?" Viktor hesitated. If something truly awful had happened, he would rather spare Yuuri from getting involved. But if it was something that happened to Yurio, Viktor wasn't sure he could handle it on his own. 

They raced to the rink and, on the way, called Yakov who then was on standby. 

It was empty when they approached. And if they weren't looking for him, they would have missed him. But there he was, just a lump in the snow in a small alley, splayed out for scavengers to pick at him.    
  
“Yurio…!” Viktor breathed, sprinting to where Yuri was just a slumped pile. Yuuri chased after him, phoning for an ambulance. 

Despite his panic, Viktor moved methodically. He put his hands to Yuri’s face, and Yuri stirred against the warmth. Relief washed over them and Viktor started peeling off his own coat, wrapping up Yuri and holding him against his body away from the wet ground despite his pained whimpers. At that, Yuuri Katsuki took off his coat and placed it over his fiance’s shoulders.   
  
“ _ Ljubímyj _ ?”

  
“They’re being dispatched right now. You can’t keep him warm if you’re cold too,” Yuuri rationalized, poorly. He looked down to little Yuri who breathed against Viktor’s shirt rapidly, filtering the cold air through Viktor’s body heat. 

Viktor cradled his head gently, trying not to shake for both his Yuris’ sakes. He held a hand to his mouth, holding in the shock he felt when he realized Yuri’s leg just didn’t look right. “Oh, Yuri…”

By the time the ambulance arrived, Yuri had awoken, but his blank stare told Viktor he very much didn’t want to be. He covered his ashamed face with weakened hands and they hauled him off with Yuuri and Viktor following not too far behind. Yuuri phoned Yakov and Viktor made the hard call to Nikolai. Viktor learned what it sounded like when a heart shattered.

* * *

Nikolai hobbled into the hospital, pushing past the pain he felt in his back up to Viktor and Yuuri, his eyes silently pleading for any good news. They offered him a seat and he buried his face in his hands wondering how this whole ordeal escalated so quickly and terribly. Yakov arrived shortly after with Lilia. She sat next to Nikolai and threw a comforting arm over his shoulders as Yakov spoke with the other boys to the side.

“I don’t know what happened. He just called me and told me where he was. It was so scary, Yakov, he called me before losing consciousness, I think,” Viktor blurted out, fear and anxiousness eating him up inside. He held tightly to Yuuri’s hand for comfort and Yuuri squeezed back holding back his own tears. Unlike Viktor, Yuuri cried for everything, but he resolved to be Viktor’s anchor. 

Yakov pulled both boys in a hug. “Yuri Plitsetski is a strong boy. We know this. He will be okay,” he said more to himself. But they nodded in agreement. 

Thanks to Viktor’s flirtatious pleas, all 5 of them were allowed to visit at once. Through the doors Yuuri could see a blankness on Yuri’s face, something he had seen once before, a completely vulnerable state. It was cute if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. As soon as they all entered, surprise lit Yuri’s face and he quickly wore his typical scowl. It warmed Yuuri’s heart.  _ Still playing it tough _ , Yuuri smiled. 

There were a few bruises on one side of his face where he hit the ground and some bandages where the skin broke peeking out from his gown on his chest, his hands, and some hidden around his middle. A cast covered his right leg set at an elevation. Everyone’s eyes moved there first. No one dared to speak of what that could mean for his future. 

Viktor embraced him first, unable to resist himself.

“Get off of me, old man.” Yuri grumbled, yet his fingers held on tight. Everything still hurt but he couldn’t let go. He started sobbing and soon the whole room followed suit. They remained in silence except for sniffles and Yuri’s painful choked noises. 

Nikolai approached, a heavy hand on Yuri’s delicate ones. “Yuri…”

“Please don’t apologize,” Yuri heaved. “I was--”

“If I can’t apologize, then you can’t blame yourself,” Nikolai soothed, carding his fingers through Yuri’s hair. He held Yuri’s head close to his chest and wept openly. 

Authorities came to ask for a statement and a description of his attackers. Repeating what Yuri remembered was harder than he expected it to be and took him far longer to get through the questions, but his grandfather helped him through it. He described some things easily and other things made him sob openly again. They were all very patient with him. 

Once the authorities left, they all took turns wordlessly grieving, shushing him, soothing him, and just existing around him until the nurses told them they had to leave. 

Yuri expressed he didn’t want to be alone and Viktor volunteered to stay with him, urging for the older men and woman to go home and get some rest. Yakov said he’d fix Yuri’s phone and it took a while to convince Nikolai to leave until Yuri asked if his grandfather could bring back some fresh piroshki since he probably couldn’t stomach the hospital food. Lilia volunteered to help, disguising her desire to support Nikolai with wanting to ensure that the ingredients he used would be suitable for Yuri. And Viktor asked Yuuri to return to take care of Makkachin. 

Then the two were alone. Viktor sat beside the hospital bed in the dimmed, white room. Yuri shifted as much as he could until he gave up and settled wherever felt best. He played with the wrinkles on the sheets and pulled at the fuzzy bits of the blankets until his fingers started to hurt. He then prodded at the snacks sneaked in for him-- wrappers ripped opened but still whole. 

Viktor noticed Yuri jumped at unrecognized voices, so they kept the T.V. off. 

“How are you feeling?” Viktor asked, gently. “And you’re not allowed to say you’re ‘fine.’”

“I’m…” Yuri took a moment to think about it. “I don’t know.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

“You and Deda told me not to blame myself, but I can’t help but feel stupid. I knew what he was up to, but there was just something that drew me to it. Maybe I was enchanted by the idea of a father, but there’s nothing in my life that suggested I needed one. And as much as I’d hate to admit it, besides Deda, you have been something like that to me.”

Viktor laughed nervously, “I would rather you said I was something like an older brother. I’m not old enough to be your father yet, am I?”

“It might be possible, if you started _really_ young.” 

“Please, by that time I already knew I wasn’t going to get anyone pregnant,” Viktor laughed and Yuri smiled with him.

“If I never had met up with him, this wouldn’t have happened,” Yuri admitted.

“If you never had met up with him, he would still find a way. Listen, Yuri, we now know how manipulative that man is and he used your past to trap you in his plans,” Viktor hummed as he looked at Yuri's leg. 

Yuri followed his line of sight. “I think more than anything, I’m scared of what  _ this _ means, now,” Yuri gestured to his leg. “I’m not prepared for a life without skating.”

“Do you want my honesty, Yuri?”

“I do.” Yuri needed honesty now more than anything. 

“I think it will be tough. Really, really tough. So, you will need to forget that man. Rid yourself of him. Blood isn’t the only thing thicker than water. Ice is too, you know. I think you’ll manage to get back out there.”

“That’s what I can hope for right now, right?”

“And we’ll all be there to help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I imagined first, and then wrote this fic around this scenario. What I wanted was a situation that connected everyone together, and wondered what that looked like. There's a scene in the anime where Lilia is looking somewhat suspiciously at the pirozhki Nikolai made, for example. I wondered if these characters would have known each other, so I really like the idea of Yakov and Nikolai drinking together, and things like that. Kind of like how Yuuri's family became Viktor's family as well as how connected Yuuri was with the other skaters. It unfortunately came at the cost of hurting Yurio! He's such a strong willed character, I also imagined what the scenario could be where he'd really be shaken up since they showed glimpses of his vulnerable side in the anime. 
> 
> The next chapter is a final confrontation and the end of all this. Thanks so much for sticking with it and reading. I'm really nervous that these last few chapters have been somewhat vague, quick, and underdeveloped, so I hope the ending will be satisfying for you to read as it was for me to write.


	14. Payment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Pyotr meet one last time

Yuri rested his crutches against the railing overlooking the Moskva river, leaning on his good leg. He sighed wondering why he needed this so badly but didn’t feel the usual anxiety or fear that plagued him when they usually met. He had nothing else to lose.

When Pyotr finally arrived, leaning against the railing with him, Yuri didn’t flinch. But Pyotr did when he saw Yuri’s leg and bruises. 

“The people you owe money to did this to me,” Yuri said, still looking out to the river. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

“I-” Pyotr’s eyes were sleepless and plagued with nightmares. He couldn’t spin a lie fast enough. He looked wild and his facial hair had overgrown in patches like he couldn’t bother to clean himself up. The men got to Yuri first, Pyotr knew this when they made their threats, and Pyotr waited for his turn but they never came to collect. He wondered if something happened to them. 

“During any of this, did you even start to care? About me? Or my ‘world’ as you put it? Did you know that I need  _ both _ of my legs to win that money you needed?” Yuri seethed, spitting venom as he managed to keep his voice low. “This,” he gestured to his leg. “Should have been you.”

Whether it was guilt or something else, Pyotr’s heart hardened in defense. His plan failed and with Yuri’s injury, there was no way of talking himself out of this one. It was time to throw it all away.

"Here,” Pyotr shoved into Yuri’s hands the picture he had in his wallet. "I stole that from your  _ deda _ when you went out running once. You can have that shit back."

Yuri recognized it. He thought it was Pyotr's keepsake but it was his tool to manipulate Yuri. He was amazed the man’s selfishness could keep surprising him. He gave a small laugh in disbelief. This wasn’t how he’d thought a final goodbye would go. 

"You're a monster."

"I'm the monster? I'm not running around in a skimpy outfit with sequins and flowers, pretending to be a man. I have been,  _ for months _ , trying to be a good father to my son who parades around like a damn  _ fairy.  _ Those men did this to you because of what you are. Because  _ you _ couldn’t help  _ me _ ."

"Listen to yourself! Those men did this to me because of  _ you _ ! Do you honestly believe you were 'trying to be a good father' when your desperation for money cost me my dreams?!" 

"If it wasn’t for your damned  _ deda  _ and that stupid f--" 

"Keep them out of this! All you've done was beat me down until I started to believe what I wanted was to be good enough for you to stay. But now I know it was all just a part of some stupid gamble and the truth is  _ you  _ left because  _ you _ weren’t good enough for  _ me _ . Fuck you. I'm done pretending." 

He ripped the photo. 

Pyotr was shocked, genuinely this time. Hearing his plans laid out in front of him aloud made him realize how wrong this all ended up. And the insecurities he had instilled into Yuri completely vanished. When did this boy become so strong? "Yuri, I… I made mistakes. I hadn’t learned a single thing. But with you, I feel like I could. Please, let me try again. We share a bond. Blood! You know the saying."

Yuri wordlessly pulled out the ring he bought months ago and held it in Pyotr's line of sight. He watched Pyotr nearly drool over it. 

"Choose then." He held his fist over the bridge over the dark depths of the river. “Me or the money?”

Pyotr didn’t say a word and the silence was far too long; it spoke volumes. Yuri sighed and opened his fist.    
  
“NO!” Pyotr grasped him by the collar, his knuckles white and hot. Yuri would have stumbled on his bad leg if Pyotr wasn’t holding him up, but Yuri smirked anyways.

Pyotr was completely stunned when the object didn’t fall. His greed blinded him in believing it was in that hand. He let go of Yuri and like a magician, Yuri revealed the ring in his other hand. 

"The only thing thicker than water is your damn skull. Get a grip, Pyotr ‘ _ Plisetsky _ .’ I will no longer let your feelings manipulate me. If you want this fucking ring, go get it and  _ drown _ ," Yuri spat and he tossed the ring into the river. 

Hot fury burned inside Pyotr, he heard half those words before. Desperation, humiliation, and loss ate him from the inside out. The hatred radiated off his face. It was obvious. He screamed, "You son of a--" 

"--A  _ bitch _ ?" Yuri interrupted, scowling albeit triumphantly. He gave Pyotr a final glance from head to toe. "Yeah."

Yuri turned to grab his crutches and limped toward a car waiting nearby for him. Viktor rolled down the window and waved flirtatiously to Pyotr whose expression was both defeated and angry. 

As they drove off, Yuri stayed silent, looking out of the window. For the first time in a long time, his mind was completely blank. They arrived at Nikolai’s where Yuri had moved back after pulling out of the competition. He had no choice but to rely on physical therapy to return stronger than ever. The doctors and therapists said his leg wasn't likely to return to normal, but it was possible for Yuri to get back onto the ice without problems if he learned to adjust for it. He had Yakov and Lilia, Viktor and Yuuri, his grandfather and Otabek, and so many more people to help him. 

Viktor assisted him out of the car. “Are you okay?”

Yuri pursed his lips and thought honestly. His grandfather came out of the house to greet them. “No,” he looked up at Viktor with eyes that mirrored his age for once.    
  
“But I will be.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading! I really enjoyed wondering about Yuri's family outside what we've seen in the show and headcanoning why he's so attached to his grandpa. This finale may be a little short, but it was really satisfying for me to write, to tell this Pyotr that's been stirring in my brain to get out! I knew I didn't want a resolution where they could be father and son because Yuri has a lot of father or older brother figures, anyways. And I wanted Yuri to recognize that Pyotr, despite the blood they may share, is unforgivable. 
> 
> There's a lot going on in the world right now, so I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.


End file.
